That Which the Heart Remembers
by Pamdizzle
Summary: Spock gets temporary amnesia after an away mission gone awry. In answer to a challenge, the details of which are inside. M. K/S. Slight OOC for amnesic Spock. DONE!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is in answer to a challenge on the K/S Archive. I have copied and pasted it below. You should know that Spock is amnesic, therefore, he WILL BE out of character—at least somewhat—for the majority of this story, which by the way isn't all that long. Just over 20K words. There are seven chapters. I will work on posting each on here on the for your reading pleasure as quickly as possible. Please read the challenge, if it is not something that you are interested in reading, the please do not bother to read and then complain to me about it in a review. I will ignore you, with glee.

That said, critiques involving spelling, grammar or other such errors are welcome. I hope that you enjoy the story. Please note that, in accordance with the challenge, there isn't any major drama, no major angst. This _**is**_ slightly fluffy, though hopefully nothing cavity inducing.

Here is the challenge:

_Summary: Spock loses his memory. Remembers practically nothing of his life. He is immediately attracted to Kirk, who has been doing his best to keep his attraction to Spock a secret, so when Spock is coming on to him it's a bit of a shock and does his best not to take advantage of the situation. Keep in mind: Spock will slowly regain control of himself as time passes and as his memory returns. But as he doesn't have his Vulcan control when he 'first' meets Kirk, he just falls in love (again) with Kirk since they are T'hy'la (but Spock of course at the time, doesn't know this, he just falls in love at first sight) This must be a happy story, you can add angst/drama/whatever to keep the story line going, but overall it must have a happy ending. This is can be whatever rating the author chooses and how long. Would prefer to be in Abrams Universe, madame and/or sir. Thank you, and have fun! :D_

XXXXX Chapter 1 XXXXX

Dr. Leonard H. McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the Starship _Enterprise_ regarded the blank screen before him, hoping—illogically, one might say—that the doctors on the colony were wrong. With a heavy sigh, he turned back to the viewer that showed his patient, who was just now beginning to come back around. The _Enterprise's _First Officer, Commander Spock, had suffered a hell of a head trauma while on an away mission to an unexplored Class M planet three days ago. The landing party had consisted of Spock, Ensigns Donovan and Flores from security, Lieutenant Sulu and a couple of his botanists. It should have been a routine endeavor: Beam down, scan surrounding flora, earth, water and small life forms, beam back, analyze, record, repeat. For the next three weeks that was there mission—but NoooOOOOoooo; Not _this_ crew…not _this_ ship. If Murphy's Law were a shadow, then McCoy swore it would be hovering behind the _Enterprise, _taunting them with its presence.

Only a half hour after the landing party had touched foot to soil, they'd been charged by what one could only described as a cross between a boar and a hippopotamus. Spock had managed to push Ensign Donovan and Lieutenant Sulu out of the way before they were attacked, only to absorb the blow himself. The puncture wounds from the animal's tusks weren't the issue—McCoy had the muscles, organs and veins realigned and regenerated in a matter of forty-five minutes. You'd never know Spock's chest had been punctured with a giant horn by looking at him now and thank God for small favors that Vulcan hearts were located in their sides.

No, the chest wound was not the most harrowing injury. The real problem existed with the several impacts to Spock's left temple as, while impaled on the animal's tusk, his head was bluntly forced into the side of rather badly placed boulder before the animal was finally dropped. If his scans were correct, there was a damn good chance that when Spock woke up, he wasn't going to know his ass from a hole in the wall.

There had been severe bleeding and McCoy actually had to perform brain surgery—on a _VULCAN_. Thankfully, due to the near extinction of their race, Vulcans were a lot less tight-lipped when it came to saving one of their own. A call to the new colongy, and less than five minutes later, McCoy had all the information he'd needed to operate. Of course, the Healer he'd spoken with, S'Jorrin, had informed him that Vulcan neurology reacts to head trauma differently than humans and that he shouldn't be surprised if, after surgery, Spock's CT scans look a little bit different—Different as in indicative-of-temporary-amnesia different.

Apparently, Vulcan neurology in its unfailing logicality will temporarily retrieve all the data of one's life (memories, both long-term and short) and store them in a secondary prefrontal cortex. Of course, the head trauma has to be severe enough to trigger this autonomous function of Vulcan hoo-doo, which Spock's were, according to S'Jorrin's examination of McCoy's scans. He had joked about Spock being a walking computer before, but—_I'll be goddamned_—a built-in back up drive? _Really_? Vulcan's had it all—superhuman strength, computer brains and double-ridged cocks. It just wasn't fair.

"Sickbay to Bridge," McCoy commed, watching as Spock's eyes began to blink open.

"Kirk here," The Captain's voice immediately sounded over the speakers in answer. "Is he awake yet, Bones?"

The doctor let out a sigh. If Jim hadn't been at the Vulcan's side these past few days, it was because he was either on the bridge or pacing with worry in his quarters after McCoy had kicked him out of sickbay. He sure as hell hadn't spent any of that time sleeping that much was obvious, if the purple lining around Jim's eyes were any indication. "He's starting to come around now. Why don't you meet me down here in twenty minutes? I need to ask him a few questions before he sees anyone."

"Understood. Kirk out," and with that, the connection was cut. Bones knew he'd be lucky if Jim waited half that long before charging down here to gaze upon the face of his precious Vulcan. Jim could deny it all he wanted, McCoy wasn't born yesterday and you didn't give up shoreleave one-nighters to stay on the ship and 'read department reports.' _Is that what they're calling it these days?_ McCoy had teased Jim a month ago when their ladies man Captain had turned down not one, not two, but three obvious offers for a happy ending before telling Bones he was going back to the ship to read reports. No, Leonard McCoy was no fool. He knew exactly what Jim was planning to do when he got back to the ship and that was pine. Pine away for that which he could never have, but longed for anyway—Spock.

Shaking his head clear of that train of thought, McCoy picked up his PADD and tricorder and crossed the distance between his office and Spock's room. Time to see if the scans and the healers were right.

He awoke to the sound of beeping machinery and an intense pain behind his eyes. As if they had not been in use for some time. As his eyes slowly opened, blinding light filtered through, immediately increasing his discomfort and his first thought was shove his head under the blanket and ignore the world around him for a little bit longer, however, there was someone hovering over him, talking as well, and they would not allow him to retreat back into sleep.

"Spock," the blurry figure called from above, "Spock, can you hear me?" His voice sounded far away, as if it were trying to speak to him from behind a glass door.

Slowly, once his eyes became accustomed to the harsh overhead light, the figure above him began to take a more discernable form. Throat dry with thirst, he opened his mouth to respond, "Assuming you are referring to me, then yes, I can most certainly hear you."

"Assuming I'm talking to you, huh?" The man before him, with brown hair and dark eyes, wearing a blue shirt with an odd upside down v-shaped pin attached to it, was regarding him with what seemed to be annoyance. "And just who exactly, do you think you are?" the doctor persisted.

"That is easy enough to deduce," he responded automatically. "I am Spock." But that was all he was able to deduce as he repeated the simple fact in his mind before calling up a number of other questions he could not answer. _I am Spock, but who is Spock? Who am I? What do I do? Where am I? How old am I?—29 years of age, his brain immediately supplied, as if by instinct. _He could see his reflection in the silver tray beside his bed. He could see that he was Vulcan, which could explain why he knew his age even if he didn't know much of anything else. So, he knew what he was—Vulcan and he knew his name—Spock; he knew that this man before him had to be a doctor as he was in what appeared to be a sickbay of some kind, but he did not possess any memory of his life to this point. It was…_terrifying_. "What happened to me?" his voice had taken on an edge of fear, "Where am I? Why do I not remember anything about myself?"

The doctor seemed to suffer a brief moment of shock at having taken notice of Spock's sudden panic. He then took hold of Spock's shoulders and squeezed, forcing Spock to make eye contact, "Hey," the doctor said, reassuringly, "just calm down, it's going to be okay. You've suffered a major head injury, but I'm told by some very reputable Vulcan healers that your memories will return within five to six weeks."

Spock let out an audible breath of relief, before his mind supplied him, instinctively with an answer, "The secondary prefrontal cortex."

"That's right," the doctor nodded in affirmation. "Do you remember anything else?"

"Negative. My mind appears to be capable of providing me with information regarding my bodily functions, but that is all." Spock averted his eyes while McCoy made a note in his PADD, then he thought to ask, "Who are you and where are we, exactly? I have already deduced that we are onboard a vessel of some kind, however, I am unfamiliar with the insignias that decorate this facility as well as your shirt."

"I'm Dr. Leonard McCoy, but most of the senior crew call me Bones, a nickname our fair Captain awarded me a few years back," McCoy set down his tricorder and flipped on a nearby panel, pressing a sequence of keys. A blueprint of a starship appeared, "We're currently onboard the United Federation Starship Enterprise where you serve as her First Officer."

"I am a member of this senior crew…Bones?" Spock inquired, trying to use the moniker Dr. McCoy had stated his colleagues used. For some reason, it did not feel right on his tongue. He surmised this instinct was correct, when the doctor released a slow chuckle.

"I'll be damned, Spock. Thought it'd be a cold day in hell before _you_ ever called me by _that_ name," Dr. McCoy was…beaming…there really was no other fitting adjective.

Just then, the door to his room slid open, and Spock felt the heart in his side clench at the site before him. A younger man dressed in gold, with wheat-colored hair and oceanic blue eyes approached him. The man was not merely smiling, but radiating sunlight and warmth both of which reached into Spock and wrapped tightly around the soul within. He seemed so familiar, yet, Spock could not put a name to him—_Golden One_…the words echoed across his mind's eye as he sought for a sliver…_any_ memory that would tell him the name of the beauty before him.

"Spock?" The voice drifted through Spock's auditory senses like a silken caress to the tiny hairs within his ears—_cilia, _his mind supplied again.

"Indeed, I have been told that is my name," Spock replied, unable to tear his eyes away from those of the being before him. They were so warm, so…_familiar. _They called to him in an elemental way, "What is your name?" The question came out in a breathy exhalation, which for some reason caused him a measure of embarrassment.

The Golden One's smile widened, his eyes taking on a mirthful glint, "Captain James T. Kirk, at your service, my amnesic friend."

"James…" Spock repeated, trying the name out for, what was for him, the first time.

"That's right," the human chuckled, "but you can call me Jim, okay?"

"As you wish, Jim," he replied. _James…Jim…._Spock decided that he liked them both.

Jim gave him another smile before placing both hands on Spock's shoulders and squeezing; much like the doctor had done earlier. Only, Spock could feel Jim's hands through the material of his shirt as if they were a brand upon the skin underneath. He felt a tingling in the back of his mind and for a moment, the entire room seemed to spin. "You gave us all a pretty big scare, First Officer," Jim's voice, low and smooth, rolled over him like a spring morning. "I know you're probably confused as Hell, but Bones here says it's only a matter of weeks before you start to get your memories back."

"In the meantime," Bones cut in, bringing both men's attention back to him, "I want you to take it easy. I'm going to release you to quarters, but I don't want you doing anything strenuous until we start to see some improvement in your recall—"

"As I am, apparently, the First Officer of this vessel, do I not have duties that require my attention?" For some reason, the idea of 'taking it easy,' within the context the doctor was implying, did not sit well with him. It simply felt _wrong. _He turned his attention back to the Golden One, "Ji—Captain," Spock appealed to the human, "Perhaps if I were shown around the ship and my daily routine explained to me, I might begin to remember at a more rapid pace."

Jim was grinning again, robbing Spock of his very breath. He was becoming more and more certain that if only he could remain in the presence of this human, restoring his memories would matter very little to him indeed. "What do you say, Bones?" Jim turned toward the doctor, "Can I give Spock a tour of the ship?"

The doctor released a sigh vexation, "If pointy-ears would have let me finish," he gave Spock a pointed look, to which Spock raised an eyebrow, "I was about to suggest just that—_tomorrow._" He pointed a finger between the two of them, "The only place you're taking the hobgoblin tonight is to his quarters so he can get some more rest or meditate or whatever it is Vulcans do to relax in the evening—Got it?"

Jim held up two hands, in an apparent gesture of surrender, "Yeah, yeah. We got it, Bones, relax." He then turned his attention back onto Spock, "You feeling up for a short walk?"

Spock responded with an eager nod, "Indeed."

"Wait, wait," Bones halted their retreat, "I'm not quite finished yet." McCoy gave Jim an exasperated look, "I can't believe you haven't even noticed." He then turned to address Spock, "I need to ask you a few more questions. Jim can stay if you want him too, but if not he'll need to wait outside."

Jim leaving would not do. He turned a small smile in Jim's direction, not missing the odd look the human gave him in return, "I would like him to stay. His presence is…comforting." He titled his head at the flush that immediately took residence on the Captains face at his words.

"Now do you see I mean?" McCoy was addressing Jim.

"I think so," Jim's voice was not as cheerful as it had been before. Again, Spock felt a gentle tugging at the back of his mind, compelling him to pull the beautiful human into his arms and kiss away the worry lines settling between his brows.

"Spock, it isn't just your memory you've lost," McCoy gestured to his hands for some reason, "It's your control, too. You've expressed more emotion in the last hour than you have the entire two years that I've known you. Vulcans don't smile, Spock. They don't laugh, they don't cry—they don't even admit to _feeling_ emotions—"

"But I _do_ feel," Spock began to interrupt, only to be waylaid by the doctor once again.

"I didn't say they _didn't_ feel, just that they don't admit it to it, and you have _never_ openly expressed your emotions but for once, a long time ago and under extreme circumstances," McCoy paused to take a contemplative breath. "My guess is, your touch telepathy is screwed up to. If you can't remember how to control your emotions, then I highly doubt you remember how to shield your telepathic abilities."

Touch telepathy? So far, Spock's body seemed to be reacting instinctively where his Vulcan biology was concerned. He wondered, if he were to touch Jim, what would happen? Curious, Spock slowly reached out a hand and entwined it with one of Jim's. The eyes of both the doctor and Jim immediately widened at the same time before Spock closed his own and concentrated on the contact. Like a tidal wave, emotions not his own—trepidation, concern, affection, trust and something barely discernable, as if Jim were taking great care not to expose the nature of it, all floated over into Spock's senses. The tingling and tugging that he'd felt earlier intensified a hundred fold, causing a warm buzz starting at the point of contact between his and Jim's hand and shooting up his arm, straight into his cerebral cortex.

As quickly as the emotions had flooded into him, they were withdrawn. When he opened his eyes, Jim's chest was heaving and he was wringing his hand, "Holy hell," Jim's voice was shaken.

He appeared to be greatly disturbed and Spock immediately felt awful. "I am sorry, Jim, I did not mean to distress you. I merely wanted to see if the doctor was correct."

Jim nodded with a faulty, but reassuring smile, "It's okay, just…uh…give me a little warning next time, okay?"

"Certainly," Spock nodded. He turned to McCoy, "You are quite right. I was unable to block the reception of the Captain's surface emotions."

"Yeah?" McCoy seemed to derive some form of pleasure from this prospect, "What did you feel?"

He looked to Jim for permission to disclose what he had discerned from their contact. Jim shrugged in assent, but Spock could not help noticing that the he looked quite nervous. "I sensed worry for my condition, affection and friendship and also some trepidation regarding the use of my telepathy." He turned again to Jim, "Again, I am sorry, Jim. I did not intend to invade your privacy. Please, forgive me. I did not think."

Jim reached out a hand and laid it upon his forearm, "Hey," he soothed, "it's okay. You just surprised me, that's all. Normally, you'd never do that, I mean...It's kind of a violation of your culture, but you're not yourself and I'm not upset, _really_. There's nothing to forgive."

Spock allowed himself to smile slightly, "Thank you, Jim."

"Look," Dr. McCoy's face was stern, but his eyes betrayed an obvious sense of compassion, "You'll need to refrain from making skin to skin contact with the crew. I can't guarantee that everyone will be as understanding as the Captain here if you accidentally go poking around their 'surface feelings.'" He made a few sweeps onto his PADD before retrieving his tricorder once more. "I'm clearing you for release, but you aren't cleared for active duty. If tomorrow's tour goes well, then we'll talk about putting you on light duty. For now, go to your quarters, wind down for the evening and try to get some more rest. Who knows, once you're surrounded by familiar walls, maybe you'll start to recollect a little something here and there."

"As you wish, doctor," Spock complied before turning his attention back to Jim, who seemed to have lost all vestiges of his recent discomfort. "I am ready to depart if it is amenable to you at this time."

Jim's smile spread over his face like butter over warm toast, his eyes sparkling with affection, "Fine by me. Let's go."

As Jim led Spock through the corridors and into the turbo lift, he focused on bringing down the tempo of the heart pounding within his chest. He'd spent the last three days agonizing over First Officer and friend's well-being. Although Bones had briefed him on the possibility of Spock's temporary amnesia, he hadn't fully understood just to what extent the Vulcan's memory would be compromised. He'd always assumed that telepathy and control were instinctual for Vulcans—apparently _not._

His entire body was still buzzing just from their brief touch of hands a few minutes earlier. _Holy fuck_, he thought, images of his entire naked body pressed against that of his First Officer flooding through his psyche. _Shit_, he groaned internally, knowing he was headed for a shower and a date with his right hand later. He'd gone through great lengths over the last eleven months to keep his feelings for Spock firmly locked within the most remote area of his brain. To have them come rushing to the forefront after something as benign as holding hands or seeing Spock smile...it was bad sign. He knew he had it bad, okay? But, fuck, this was just impossible.

_I will not fantasize about my First Officer. I will not fantasize about my First Officer._ The mantra wasn't working so he tried harder, _I will not fantasize about my currently vulnerable, unbearably straight, Vulcan, emotionally unavailable in every sense of the phrase, straight, straight, STRAIGHT VULCAN first officer. _Regardless of how adorable Spock currently looked while trying to figure out how to open the door to his own quarters. Jim needed to shove these feelings back where they belonged—into the abyss of his subconscious, never to be seen or heard from again outside of dream world. He let out a hopeless sigh, "Here, let me," he reached forward and punched in the Commander's code.

That adoring gaze that Spock had been giving him all evening was once again pinned upon him. "Thank you, Jim," Spock said, gesturing with his hand in an invitation for Jim to join him.

Jim swallowed the lump of foreboding that had been trying very hard to choke him to death, "Sure." He entered the room of his friend and colleague as nonchalantly as possible. It wasn't any different than entering it for a game of chess, he told himself unconvincingly. The thing was Spock wasn't himself right now. Hell, the Vulcan had admitted that he was comforted by Jim's presence—Spock admitting to feeling _anything_ was a miracle in and of itself, but to admit to feeling comforted by Jim…that was downright unthinkable.

"Fascinating," Spock remarked, looking around the room, taking in the deep red drapes and Vulcan artifacts that decorated the space around them.

Jim couldn't keep the grin from forming on his face, "You don't have a single memory of your life up to this point and yet you're still so…_you_."

Spock raised an inquisitive eyebrow, "Please elucidate."

"They way you speak, the way you think…it's all as it should be, for the most part," Jim let out a contemplative sigh. "Except…you're so expressive right now. You're usually so indecipherable, I'm having a hard time reconciling the normal, controlled Vulcan you with the more Human, amnesic you."

"Which do you prefer?" Spock asked, suddenly feeling…sullen. What if Jim did not like him now? What if he had never liked Spock, even with his Vulcan control? Perhaps Jim could not feel the same pull that Spock had felt when the human had entered his room in sickbay.

"Spock," Jim's voice was reproachful, "I don't have a _preference_. You are who you are, and I like you however you choose to be."

"That is well, as I do not currently know how else to be," Spock replied, feeling more sure of himself.

Jim cleared his throat and gestured to the room around him, "So…any of this ringing a bell for you?"

When Spock replied with a simple, "Unfortunately, No," without commenting on the illogicality of Jim's statement, he felt a small, sad tug at his chest. He could almost hear the lecture: _"Captain, I fail to see what the ringing of bells would have to contribute to the current situation. Furthermore, as the Enterprise has no use for such and object, finding a bell onboard would likely prove most difficult."_ He regarded his amnesic First Officer, hoping his memory would return sooner than later. Jim had been missing his friend and while he was enjoying seeing this new, expressive side of Spock—he wouldn't change a thing about the Vulcan he had fallen in love with all those months ago.

"Well," Jim finally responded, "It's getting late. I've got some reports I need to file and I think you could use some time alone to familiarize yourself with your quarters."

Spock did not want Jim to leave, but what he said was true. It would be wise to process all that he experienced thus far. Perhaps he would attempt to meditate, as the doctor had suggested. Or, perhaps he would use this time to educate himself with the operations of this ship, Vulcan culture and his own past. There must be holos or vid files that would lend some clues as the person he was supposed to be, "Indeed," Spock reluctantly agreed, "I fear there is much I need to…catch up on."

Jim made his way to the door, "Well, just don't overdo it. You don't remember right now, but believe me—any slip ups and Bone'll have you back in sickbay before you can say _Enterprise._"

"I will endeavor to keep the duration of my research tonight at a minimum of three hours," Spock assured.

"Good. I'm next door if you need anything or have any questions," Jim flashed a parting smile, "'Night, Mr. Spock."

"Good night, Jim," Spock responded softly and affectionately as his Golden One disappeared into the corridor. He may not remember anything of his life prior to waking up in sickbay, but there was one fact of which he was certain. The feeling that had risen within him at the sight of the young Captain earlier that evening combined with the sensory overload when he touched Jim's hand, made it startlingly clear: Spock was in love James T. Kirk, and he must have been for quite some time.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. I've been battling a wisdom tooth this past week. Finally got it pulled, so you can expect faster updates as I continue to move this fic over. **_

_**Please don't forget to drop a review before exiting, thank you!**_

Chapter 2

"Is it my typical routine to report to these labs before the bridge?" Spock questioned as he and Lieutenant Uhura exited Science Lab B, and headed back toward the turbo lift. "My research indicated that the First Officer of a Starfleet Vessel is to report at 0600, Alpha Shift, to the bridge. It is now 0930 and I have yet to—"

"Spock," Uhura interrupted, with a chuckle, "relax. Yes, normally you would report to the bridge first thing Alpha Shift. I took you to see the labs first because you also serve as the ship's Science Officer." She shot a smile over her shoulder at the Vulcan behind her, "Normally, you spend the evenings you don't use for sleep down in these labs and then report to bridge from here."

"Ah," Spock nodded his understanding, pushing aside his annoyance at their delay. "Indeed, I was unable to 'unwind' as the doctor and Captain had suggested. I spent the night researching Vulcan culture, Starfleet and human history, well past the three hour maximum I guaranteed Jim."

As they entered the turbolift, Uhura turned an odd look upon the Vulcan. This was the fourteenth such stare and it was starting to make Spock feel somewhat uncomfortable. "I have noticed that each time I say something particularly deviant from what would be considered appropriate behavior for my normal self, you regard me with your current expression; as if something I have said is particularly unbelievable."

The lieutenant was immediately remorseful, "I'm sorry, Spock," she said, placing a soothing hand on his forearm, "It's just…you never call the Captain by his first name in public and you've definitely never done in conversation before."

"Why?" Spock inquired, his customary head tilt in accompaniment. "It is his name, is it not?"

Uhura smiled, "Yes, but…" she took a long resigned sigh, shook her head and halted the lift, "Vulcans are very proper, Spock and you have always made a point of professionalism. Even when you and I were…" she paused and bit her lip, "even when we were…_involved_…you never called me by my first name unless we were off duty and alone together."

"Involved?" Spock raised an eyebrow, "Please explain."

"For about eight months, you and I were 'engaged in a romantic relationship,'" Uhura informed politely.

That seemed…unlikely. Spock thought back on his initial physical reaction to Jim in sickbay and compared it to his first reaction to the communications officer when she arrived to take him on the tour this morning. At first he had felt a deep disappointment that the being standing before him was not Jim. Of course, it was only logical that the Captain of the _Enterprise_ was required on the bridge, as the Lieutenant had informed him, but still Spock had been…_looking forward_ to seeing him again.

The beguiling human had captivated him from the moment he had turned his azure eyes upon him. Jim was a vision in gold and black and his eyes had constantly danced with a myriad of emotions, his lips ever grinning. Spock's eidetic memory, another Vulcan trait his brain had informed him of during his research, recalled the image of Jim as he bid Spock good night twelve hours ago, and his heart flittered in his side. When he signaled the doors of his quarters to open this morning he had been greeted by the sight of the very esthetically pleasing Lieutenant Uhura. However, his heartbeat did not quicken, nor was there a tingling in the back of his mind as there had been when he'd first met Jim. His reaction to the Lieutenant was more or less the same to that of the doctor and the various teams he had observed in the labs.

"I am sorry," he finally said, "but that does not seem to correlate with what I have discovered of myself since waking in sickbay."

His apology was met with a sad smile as she pushed the button to resume the lift. "I'm sure that it doesn't," was her cryptic reply.

Spock placed a hand on her shoulder, noticing the wetness that had formed in her eyes, "If I have said something to offend you, I assure you it was not intentional."

With a slight shake of her head, Nyota regarded the man before her. Spock really didn't have a clue, did he? His face was an open book, and she could clearly read concern in all of his features. Oh, she had always known how deeply his emotions, like with the rest of his species, could run, but to see them on display without having to pry behind the Vulcan mask was breathtaking. They'd ended their relationship over a year ago, but this conversation was making her remember the remorseful Vulcan that had sat in her quarters telling her there was no logic in pursuing a relationship with a woman after discovering that he was clearly homosexual. It really was too bad, she thought before replying, "You haven't done anything wrong," she soothed now. "It's just, hearing you say that—without any memory of who you are—just makes it hit home all over again, I guess." She swiped away her unshed tears when he raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry, "That we were never meant to be."

Their conversation ended with a swoosh of the turbolift doors, opening to reveal the bridge of the _Enterprise._ Spock's eyes widened at the sight before him and he had to focus all of his control into an effort not to grin ear to ear. "Ah," a voice sounded from his left, and Spock's eyes immediately sought its owner.

"Spock," Jim greeted, crossing the bridge and clapping his First on the back as he came up alongside them. He nodded at Uhura, "Lieutenant."

"Captain," she smiled, something that was almost impossible not do in the face of that Kirkian grin. "I take it you have it from here?" Jim gave Uhura a nod of assent before she headed back to relieve the ensign at the communications station.

He turned to Spock, "Did you enjoy your tour? Find anything…_familiar?_"

Spock thought back to the various experiments and pieces of equipment he'd been shown. They had not sparked any recognition. The vids and holos that he found of himself during his research had also had little effect on his memory. He had learned that his father's name is Sarek, and he served as the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth. His mother, Amanda, was human and Spock was the first and only half-Human, half-Vulcan offspring to survive past infancy. The Planet Vulcan had been lost at the hands of a Romulan from the future, Nero, and there was currently a colony on the planet Vafer-Tor where his race was currently rebuilding. He had experienced a plethora of emotions while watching vids and reading reports concerning the destruction of his home planet and the death of his mother.

He had even observed his Amanda Grayson's memorial, and felt sadness at the tragedy by which her life was lost. More so, he felt regret that his home planet was no longer in existence, and relief that at least his father had survived with him, so Spock was not fully orphaned as so many of his people apparently had been. Recognition, however,—the essential tie between Spock and these people and events—was not present. It was as though he was learning these events, knowing they happened to him and that if he could remember any of his life from before, the pain of loss would undoubtedly be overwhelming, however, that was the problem. He could not feel the loss for that of which he had no recollection…had no perceivable connection to his current self.

When Spock hesitated to answer his question, obviously not wanting to report that nothing had spurred any remembrance, Jim placed a comforting hand on the Vulcan's shoulder and leaned in to speak softly, "Don't worry about it if you aren't remembering yet. Just give it time." He motioned with his head for Spock to follow as he led them to a station a couple meters to the right.

"_This_ is your station, Science Officer," Jim waved a hand to encompass an impressive array of monitors and spatial observation equipment. Beseeching blue eyes smiled at Spock as the Captain swiveled the chair outward, "Wanna give it a go?"

Jim watched twin eyebrows meet Vulcan hairline as Spock took the proffered seat. He observed as brown eyes flew from one reading to the next, black head bent to the scanner as it relayed information to the terminal from the planet below. Nothing escaped, Jim's notice, especially the slight tapping of fingers against black trousers, as if they were itching to be reunited with the touch panel before them. No sooner had he thought it, than Spock's hands shot up from their resting place and his fingers began flying across the controls. Jim watched as his amnesic First Officer began dissecting scans and initializing relays of the information to various ship departments. Spock then initiated several routine diagnostics on the equipment, recording the results and adjusting the terminal accordingly. He then realigned the sensors to perform a second level scan on the planet's marine surfaces. By then, every head on the bridge was turned in their direction, watching intently.

When Spock's elegant fingers finally came to rest on the edge of the panel, he turned amazed brown eyes onto a beaming Kirk, "Fascinating." When a chorus of chuckles sounded around the room, Spock's ears turned a becoming emerald.

"Back to work, you bunch of shirkers," Jim chided fondly, causing the crew to put their eyes back on their own terminals. He then returned his attention to his still slightly flushed First Officer, "Don't mind them; they're just happy to see you back on the bridge." He then gestured to the console, "Let me guess—not a clue?"

Spock tilted his head—an action he always took before he was about to impart a valuable piece of Vulcan logic. It amazed Jim that Spock had no memory from any part of his life, and yet, his mannerisms were still so present. It was like he was talking to a fully cognizant Spock, even though he knew the person he'd grown to know and love wasn't actually home at the moment. As he suspected, Spock launched into a theory, "I believe I reacted with a form of procedural memory resulting from repeating the same tasks upon this particular console for several years."

Jim's teasing smile caused Spock's breath to hitch slightly as the Captain placed a hand on the console and leaned into the Vulcan's personal space (something his research on human culture told him consisted of a three foot circumference around one's person). Jim's face was definitely far less than three feet from his own—_approximately .8 feet of space exists between our foreheads_, his mind supplied. Spock was beginning to get used to random factoids slipping into his consciousness at odd intervals. "You're saying that was muscle memory?" The Captain inquired his voice low and smooth in his attempt to keep prying ears from overhearing.

"Essentially, yes," Spock confirmed. "It is not so very different from the periodic information my mind supplies me in regards to my physiology."

Jim nodded in comprehension, "You didn't experience this while in the labs this morning?"

"Not as such," Spock raised an inquisitive eyebrow, "however, my duties in the labs appear to be far more variant than those conducted from this terminal."

Jim nodded and opened his mouth to say something only to be interrupted by the comm unit from the Captain's chair, "McCoy to Bridge."

Instinctively, they both reached to toggle the comm on Spock's terminal, their hands colliding on the panel. Time seemed to slow as the tingling Jim had felt when Spock had taken his hand in sickbay yesterday shot up his arm like a livewire and he jerked his head up, blue eyes wide as they met with pools of brown warmth, full of forbidden Vulcan emotion. Jim knew that whatever this sensation was between them, Spock was feeling it just as intensely. When the Vulcan lowered his eyes to their tangled fingers, Jim's gaze followed. He watched, slightly dazed, as Spock pulled his index and middle finger together and ran them down and under Jim's hand, caressing the palm before curling around the thumb and withdrawing, just slowly enough that it was deliberate. As quickly as it had started, it ended, leaving Jim feeling both relieved and disappointed at the same time. _What the fuck just happened?_ Jim wondered, his breath shaky and heart pounding heavily in his chest.

"Bridge. Spock here," the Vulcan answered McCoy's call in his customary monotone, as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary. As if he had not just taken Jim to the Vulcan equivalent of first base. Just what the hell kind of research had Spock been doing last night? The Captain's eyes darted around the bridge, curious if anyone had noticed. His pulse began to calm when it became apparent that no one had.

McCoy's voice brought him back from his momentary shock, "Spock, I need you to report to sickbay as soon as the Captain can spare you."

"Captain?" Spock inquired, not really wanting to leave but also knowing that what he had just done was highly inappropriate and feeling rather embarrassed. At the first touch of their skin, Spock had been overwhelmed with Jim's surface emotions and a torrent of intense affection, regard and warmth had washed over him. It was all he could do not to pull the human into his arms and suddenly he was dragging fingers across Jim's hand, his mind informing him of the meaning as he did so, before he could stop himself.

When Jim nodded his head in assent to the doctor's request, Spock opened the comm frequency once more, "I shall be there momentarily, doctor. Spock out."

"Do you remember how to get to sickbay?" Jim asked, shock having given way to concern, making Spock feel even guiltier.

"Yes, Captain," he was careful to keep his voice even and controlled, determined to act as close to what he understood to be his normal demeanor as possible.

"Alright," Jim smiled warily, "dismissed."

With a nod, Spock vacated his station and made to proceed to the turbolift, only to be stopped by a strong hand on his forearm. "Before you go," Jim leaned closer, his voice low, "I want you to meet me in my quarters for lunch at 1345. We need to talk." Blue eyes were fixed upon Spock, as if trying to dissect him from the inside out.

"Yes, Ji—_Captain_," Spock stuttered, practically fleeing the bridge when Jim released him.

Xxx

McCoy was just finishing up a thank you letter headed for Vafer-Tor when Spock entered his office, "Spock," he greeted, gesturing the chair opposite him. Once the Vulcan had seated himself, McCoy picked up the chip that held all the data he'd just received from the Vulcan colony. "I just had a conversation with S'Jorrin, the healer that helped me treat you this week."

At the prompting of Spock's eyebrow and continued silence, Bones continued, "I asked him about your inability to control your emotions and shield your telepathy."

"What did he say?" Spock asked, wincing at the evident worry in his tone. His research on Vulcan culture had informed him that emotions in his species could be extremely dangerous and volatile. For Spock, his actions toward the Captain less than twenty minutes ago were proof enough of that. Having forgotten the techniques which, according to his research, he should have been taught at the age of four, Spock had been doing his very best to maintain a degree of emotional indifference. For the most part, he had experienced a measure of success…until he and Lieutenant Uhura had reached the bridge. Ten minutes in the presence of the Captain, and Spock was lost to every emotional whim the human provoked.

The doctor's next words brought with them some relief, "He says it's completely normal for someone in your situation." McCoy then placed a data chip on the desk between them, "_And, _he sent you some control techniques he wants you to try while you're waiting for your memories to return. 'Said he'd prefer to schedule a few sessions with you via comm link, but he doesn't have the time. Vulcan healers are in high demand and short supply right now, and personal sessions are reserved for the most severe patients. Quite frankly, I'm not even sure how he had time to put this together."

Spock nodded, taking the data chip and standing as if to leave, "Hopefully the healer's time will not have been wasted. If that is all, I would like to read this immediately."

Bones' pinned him with a knowing stare, "That bad, huh?"

The Vulcan averted his gaze, "It has become apparent in the short time since I awakened, just how important these techniques are to my continued functionality."

The doctor harrumphed, causing the Vulcan to stiffen slightly, "Don't get me wrong, Spock, I understand the reasoning behind Vulcan logic and emotional control, but they'll never be able to convince me—_not for a damned second_—that bottling every single emotion under a tight lid is healthy."

"According to 'Vulcan: A History,' my entire species was nearly undone by the savagery caused by my ancestors' emotional volatility. Constant warring between clans had nearly—"

"Blah, blah, I know," Bones held up a hand stopping Spock mid-sentence, still seated behind his desk. "I understand putting a leash on it, even humans exercise control to a degree, but why a complete exoneration of all feeling? What about _happiness_? What about _love_, Spock? Your ancestors in all their infinite wisdom decided to up and out with all emotion and replace it with knowledge and logic, walking around with a mind full of numbers and facts, but no _joy_ and no _love_. As a human, I don't know what kind of life that is…but it sure as hell doesn't seem like much of one, if you ask me."

Spock sighed, "Speaking from recent experience, I can tell you that it is not an absence of emotion that my species possess. In fact, since my awakening yesterday evening, I have experienced a vast array of emotions—among them, fear, apprehension, amusement and…_affection._"

McCoy didn't miss the color that rose to the Vulcan's high cheek bones at his confession. "Affection, huh?"

"Yes," Spock sighed shyly.

"What kind of affection?" McCoy tried to pry further, even though he could already tell it was going to be futile.

"I do not wish to discuss the matter," the Vulcan intoned, having managed once again to conceal his feelings. "I thank you for contacting Healer S'Jorrin on my behalf."

Bones huffed in defeat, "Don't mention it." Spock turned to leave, but McCoy couldn't resist relaying a snippet of advice, "If I were you, I'd go for it—whoever it is."

"If that is all…" Spock once again headed for the door, hearing the doctor's muttered, "Yeah, yeah," at his back, before making his escape from sickbay and McCoy's unnerving perceptivity.

It was 1353 before Spock found the courage to activate the chime at the door to Jim's quarters. He had spent the time between his visit with the doctor and this lunch appointment educating himself on Starfleet sexual harassment regulations. If Jim had recognized Spock's actions earlier for what they were, there was a good chance—_89.7 percent, his mind clarified,_ that this impromptu lunch was to discuss potential disciplinary actions. Having spent twenty minutes reading through the various forms of discipline—formal reprimand, brig, reduction in rank and finally court martial—Spock had worked himself into such a state of fret that he practically shoved the data chip McCoy had given him into the terminal at his desk, trying to absorb the information at warp speed.

Still, as he'd expected, when the door opened to reveal blue eyes swimming in an ocean of wheat and gold, the tingling in the back of Spock's mind returned. Once again, he felt the urge to gather the human as close to him as possible and whisper words of endearment and adoration. How could he be so utterly besotted with a person who, for all intents and purposes, was little more than a stranger? Spock was trying desperately to initiate the first principal of emotional control and failing miserably. The only explanation that Spock had managed to postulate regarding the intensity of these feelings for Jim was that they must have been present for a very long time…that they were something _remembered_.

Much like his fingers recalled how to operate the science station on the bridge earlier, was it possible that his heart remembered his love for this human? Perhaps that tingling in the back of his mind was actually his lingering affection for Jim, but…it did not make sense. If he had loved Jim for _so long_ that his mind and heart remembered it despite his amnesia, then why had he not yet acted upon it? Why was Jim not already his mate? Certainly, the Captain felt affection for Spock, he could feel it when they touched, but it was obvious by Jim's reaction that they had never before shared a Vulcan kiss. If that were the case, then Spock was willing to theorize that Jim had absolutely no idea that his First Officer was frantically in love with him.

"Spock," Jim interrupted the Vulcan's chain of thought, welcoming his First Officer inside with a sweep of his hand. "Come on in."

The Vulcan followed his Captain to the dining area where vegetable lasagna and Altair water were waiting upon the table. "I'm starved," Jim smiled, pulling out Spock's chair before rounding the table and taking his own seat. "Let's eat, and then we can talk before I have to go back to the bridge."

Spock nodded his agreement and they ate their meal in pregnant silence, while Spock's mind whirled with apprehension at the coming conversation. By the time he had finished his his meal, he was so nervous that when he reached to drink the last of his water, his grip was too hard and it broke in his hand, "Ah!" he exclaimed when glass sliced through the sensitive skin of his fingers and palm.

"Shit, Spock!" Jim was instantly out of his chair and pulling Spock toward the bathroom. He wrenched open a drawer and produced a small med kit. "Are you alright?" Jim asked, opening some antiseptic and unrolling the gauze. He reached for Spock's wounded hand, only to have the Vulcan flinch away.

"It is only a minor cut," Spock quietly insisted, his voice shaky. "I can see to it myself."

"Bullshit," Jim argued, ignoring Spock's reaction for the time being. "How are you going to wrap the bandage?"

Gritting his teeth and swallowing back the lump of trepidation lodged thoroughly in his throat, Spock tried to envision a wall designed to keep things_ out. _Slowly, he extended his arm toward the Captain, "Very well."

Jim let out a slow breath and cleared his mind, wanting to make this as easy for Spock as possible. When their skin made contact, the buzzing that had been present earlier, was there again, but it was muted by their joint effort to control it. "You feel it too, don't you?" Jim questioned as he cleaned Spock's cuts, gently applying the antiseptic with soft strokes of cotton.

Spock released a shaky breath, "Yes." He watched, fixated, as Jim gently wrapped his hand in gauze, taping it at his wrist. "It is…fairly overwhelming."

Jim nodded, then pinned Spock with the full weight of his stare, "What _is_ it?"

Spock considered sharing his theory with Jim, but thought better of it. There had to be a very good reason he had concealed his feelings for the Captain…if only he could remember what they were. It would be easy to assume that his reasons revolved around fear of rejection, however it seemed just as likely that Spock might not have shared these feelings because of Starfleet regulations or perhaps because Jim was solely heterosexual. He did not know for certain, and before he divulged this information, Spock wanted to at least spend more time considering the possibilities. Deciding it was not a lie, he responded with a simple, "I do not know."

Jim looked as if he wanted to ask something else, but simply nodded before releasing Spock's bandaged hand, "Alright." He cleaned up the medical supplies and led them out of the bathroom and into the sitting area where he gestured for Spock to sit on the couch. The Captain then took a seat in the chair opposite, "I have to get back to the bridge in a few minutes. You're still on light duty, so you're done for the day."

Spock responded with a nod, putting his trepidation aside, "There was something which you wished to discuss?"

Jim licked his lips, trying to think of a good way to phrase his question. The best he came up with was, "Are you okay, Spock? I mean, really? You seem…I don't know…"

"_Emotional_," Spock finished for him, his voice dripping with self-deprecation. "I am attempting to control—"  
Jim shook his head, "No, Spock, that's not—" he took a breath, trying to explain in a way that wouldn't hurt his friend's new found feelings, "What I mean to say is, it's like your first day all over again, except you don't have a clue as to how you got here or who you really are." He stared into the soulful eyes that were searching his own as if Jim held all the answers to his identity, "I just…I want to make sure you feel…comfortable, you know."

"I am fine," Spock deliberately used an obtuse adjective.

Jim couldn't keep from smiling at his friend's use of the word 'fine,' a familiar lecture on the illogic of using that particular adjective to describe a state of wellbeing coming to mind. He put it aside, and focused on the being before him—his friend and yet, for the next few weeks, a stranger all at the same time. "You don't have to try so hard to be him, you know…the Spock everyone expects you to be."

Spock felt the color drain from his face, suddenly very uncomfortable indeed, "I was not attempting to—"

"No?" Jim's eyes danced in amusement. "The first thing you ask for is a tour of the ship and a walk through of your typical routine. _Come on_."

Spock shook his head, "It does not _feel _right to sit idle, as the doctor had been suggesting." When Jim said nothing, Spock continued, "I could not recall any information regarding the current experiments in the science labs. Nor did I recognize the reports that I, myself, had authored. Yet, it did not _feel_ unfitting to be there. My mind still holds a vast scientific knowledge—an understanding of the world around me, even if that world in itself is unfamiliar. I was able to recall the theory behind every formula presented in my reports. In fact, once I reread the procedures of the various experiments, I was able to come to the same conclusions as I did prior to my amnesia."

Jim nodded, his eyes again showing such regard and affection that it rendered Spock momentarily breathless. "Okay," Jim voice was soft and accepting. "I just want to make sure you aren't pushing yourself."

"I am not," Spock assured. "Is that all you wished to ascertain?" It seemed too good to be true that Jim hadn't recognized Spock's earlier transgression. It was.

"Just one more thing," Jim said, extending the index and middle finger of his right hand, holding it up for Spock to examine. "Are you familiar with what this means?"

Spock felt his heartbeat quicken and his ears and cheeks tingle in embarrassment. He averted his gaze to the floor, "Yes." When he finally managed to gather enough courage to look up, Jim was staring at him with inscrutable eyes.

"Why did you kiss me on the bridge?" He finally asked, voice determined, but devoid of inflection—accusatory or otherwise.

Spock was not able to think of a believable deceit, "I was not fully cognizant of my actions until I was already taking liberty with your person. When we touch I feel…I want…_more."_

Jim's eyes widened, his mouth agape, "Wha—what do you mean?"

"Since the moment I saw you, I have been drawn to you." When Jim's reaction was to sit in silence, staring wide-eyed, Spock supposed further elucidation was required, "When we touched on the bridge, my mind informed me of the meaning as I was kissing you. It seemed so natural to touch you in that way. Forgive me, I did not mean any offense."

Jim sat, staring at his friend in a whole new light. Spock was attracted to him? Spock _liked_ touching him? For a brief moment, Jim's heart felt so full, he thought it would burst with happiness. He'd been in love with Spock for so long and now he was finding out that it was mutual and all it had taken was the evaporation of some Vulcan shields…caused by amnesia. As quickly as that hope had filled him, it evaporated. _Of course,_ Jim thought. Spock had told him and McCoy that Jim seemed familiar and he and Spock spent so much time together off shift, playing chess, eating meals and building that friendship Old Spock had prophesized that it suddenly all made sense. His heart clenched painfully as Jim squeezed the love out of it, forcing it back into its hole.

Finally, when he trusted his voice not to betray him, Jim spoke. "I'm not offended," he sighed, pushing aside thoughts of how easy it would be take advantage of the situation and show a _willing _version of Spock just how not offended he was. Instead, he provided an out for both of them, "It makes sense, I guess. We spend a lot of time together; work the same shifts, eat together, play chess almost every day. I wouldn't be surprised if your subconscious is just telling you what you already know—that we're very good friends. That you can trust me."

"Perhaps," Spock nodded slowly, rolling the possibilities over in his mind. If he and the Captain spent as much time together as Jim suggested, then there was a possibility that Spock's recognition was based on the trust associated with their friendship and time spent together. That did not, however, explain the attraction or the desire to hold and kiss, to touch and caress. Still, Jim seemed convinced that his theory was correct, in fact, he seemed _comforted_ by it. As if it explained away the electricity that passed between them at the slightest touch of skin and Spock's slip of the hand earlier on the bridge. It seemed to Spock, that for whatever reason, the Captain seemed determined to deny the possibility that Spock's feelings were more than platonic. Whether this was for Spock's benefit or his own, the Vulcan could not tell.

"Well," Jim clapped his hands, needing to end this conversation and put some space between himself and temptation, "I'm sure I'm probably overdue. Why don't you hop back down to sickbay and have someone put a regenerator on that hand."

Recognizing the dismissal for what it was, and feeling utterly defeated, Spock followed Jim to the door. "Thank you for lunch, Captain," Spock made sure his voice was the epitome of professionalism.

"Don't mention it," Jim's grin didn't quite meet his eyes. "I'll see you around." With that, the Captain turned in the direction of the turbolift and left Spock, standing in the corridor. An eyebrow seemed to rise of its own accord and the Vulcan entered his own quarters, simply following his feet as they led him to the meditation mat in the corner of the sitting room. He suddenly felt the urge to sit and think, so he did. Lowering himself to the mat, and crossing his legs Spock decided that he could do one of two things. He could either allow Jim to continue with the assumption that Spock's feelings of affection and recognition were based solely on friendship, _or_ he could do what he really _wanted_ to do and convince the Captain otherwise.

Even with all his knowledge of Jim locked away within his secondary prefrontal cortex, Spock's feelings were intense and clear. Their souls sought communion and Spock knew that if it was intense now, what he must go through on a daily basis, concealing these emotions, had to be hell. Whatever his memory brought with its return, Spock was convinced that this must change and when he did remember, he'd be sure not to forget to thank himself later.


	3. Chapter 3

It was hopeless, Jim knew, as he flipped over onto his back and shoved the blankets aside. He glanced over at the chronometer: 0245. There would be no sleep for him tonight, _again_…unless…Jim glanced down at the tent in his pajama bottoms. "Fuuuuuck," he groaned up at the ceiling. His dick couldn't stop thinking about onyx hair, deep brown eyes, soft knuckles as they grazed against the base of his neck and firm hands at the small of his back. He could have sworn his First Officer was _trying _to kill him the way he'd been so…touchy…lately.

He knew it wasn't Spock's fault—he was just imitating what he thought was casual behavior among the crew and trying to fit in while he waited for his memory to return. Jim had to give it to the Vulcan, he'd relearned his duties and the operation of all his stations in a matter of a few days. Still, he seemed to be having trouble interpreting appropriate social norms, especially where casual contact was concerned. Handshakes and pats on the back were one thing, but…_fuck_, Jim swore internally as he thought back on Spock's behavior over the past two weeks. It had started benignly enough—a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder after a comm meeting with the brass, a squeeze of the forearm to communicate enthusiasm with the work Spock had been doing in the labs—but the past few days…not quite so innocuous.

On Wednesday, Spock had buzzed Jim's door at 0545, a pre-amnesic habit that Spock had deemed worthy of continuing, so they could get to the mess and have an early breakfast. Nothing strange about that and, in fact, the entire walk there had been in companionable silence, each man taking the time to wake up and organize their mental to-do list. That was, until they'd collected their breakfast and started toward a table. Spock had placed a warm hand at the small of Jim's back, guiding him to a corner seat by the window. The feel of Spock's large, burning palm pressed firmly against his back had been enough to send Jim's pulse into overdrive and set his cock to standby. The Vulcan had said _something_ about observing the planet before they broke orbit that afternoon, but the brain functions required for proper auditory reception, were being focused elsewhere. Rather, Jim was dedicating all bodily non-life support systems to thoughts of Klingon warriors in drag—_anything_ to make Kirk Jr. _sit_ and _stay_, _goddamn you._

Of course, that hadn't been the worst of it and as the day progressed, the touches became more and more intimate. For instance, it had been closing in on lunch hour and Spock, who had been cleared for full time duty, had crossed the bridge to stand behind the command chair, which was normal, even for non-amnesic Spock. What _wasn't_ normal was for Vulcan lips to barely graze across the curved top of a human ear, as Spock leaned over the back of the command chair, body heat pouring over Jim's shoulders and practically breathing an invitation to lunch across his temple.

Jim had been so focused on controlling his body's reaction to Spock—_God-fucking-damnit, SPOCK_—blowing in his ear, that he almost didn't catch it—the good timing, that is. Everyone had been focusing on their tasks, Jim's Yoemen had already excused herself for her own meal and Sulu was still en route to the bridge to take over the conn. It couldn't have been a better timed interlude than if Spock had intentionally planned it that way. And wasn't _that_ just a tempting morsel for thought? When Jim had swung around, wide-eyed to catch the innocent, inquiring expression of his First Officer, however, that thought had gone flying out the window. _No,_ Jim had told himself, _he just doesn't understand._

Of course, that mantra became harder and harder to believe as the week progressed and Spock grew increasingly physical in his expressionism. It had come to a head yesterday, after they had beamed down to take topographic tricorder scans of one of the most fertile deposits of soil the planet had to offer. The rest of the landing party had fanned out, collecting various samples and Jim had come to squat beside Spock in order to get a better look at the family of flora the Vulcan was scanning, or so that was the reason he'd come up with in case anyone decided to ask. He had been lost in thoughts of how beautiful Spock was when the sun was bouncing off his ebony hair, casting a blue crown over the cap of his head. The second Jim realized he was staring, he turned his head to observe the comparatively dull purple flowers in front of him.

When a warm hand landed softly on the back of his neck, thumb stoking a light path from the patch of skin behind his ear to his racing pulse point, Jim had been too stunned for words. "Come," Spock had said softly, removing the hand as if it were some casual touch between friends and not an intimate caress. "There appear to be other species of this family twenty meters North." Wordlessly and once again fighting an erection, Jim had stood and followed, his eyes never once straying from the perfection that was Spock's beautiful ass. Of course, what _could_ he say? This was _entirely_ his fault.

Spock had informed him at the start of the week, after grabbing Jim by the shoulders in a very unVulcan display of enthusiasm, brown eyes bright with excitement and mouth tilted in the barest hint of a smile, "Geosciences has found substantial deposits of dilithium in the Southern hemisphere of the planet, almost equal to that which could be found on Vulcan prior to its destruction."

"I thought the volcanic activity in that area was making it difficult for our scanners to read accurately," Jim had questioned, still somewhat dazed by the beauty of Spock's happiness.

"Yes," the Vulcan had replied, with a human twinkle of pride. "However, I was able to author an algorithm that filters for electricity within the molten rock of the planet's surface in that hemisphere, thereby indicating where ionic bonded minerals could be located. Using a level three scan of the surface beneath the lava pools at the foot of the most active volcano, we were able to uncover massive deposits of dilithium buried within multiple caverns."

"That's remarkable, Spock," Jim had smiled, before realizing he was still being firmly held in place by two strong, warm hands. Nonchalantly, Jim chuckled and nodded his head toward his First Officer's grip, "You can uh…let go now…you know."

Spock had awkwardly released him, and then rather sheepishly shrugged—_SHRUGGED! _"My apologies, Ji—Captain. I have been conducting primary research of a personal variety."

"Oh?" Jim had questioned, automatically, "What kind of primary research?"

"Proper human to human social interaction," Spock had clarified. "I have been observing various members of the crew as they work and converse with one another, in order to clarify some of the examples of physical emphasis to verbal communication I have read so much about."

"Ah…right," Jim bit his lip, that was not what he'd been expecting to hear. "What about _Vulcan_ social interaction?"

"_What_ interaction?" Spock had deadpanned, leaving Jim somewhat speechless. He was suddenly very glad that they were having this conversation in the Captain's ready room instead of out in the corridor. If any crew overheard Spock criticizing Vulcan culture, he'd have a hard time living it down after waking up from lost-memory-land.

Jim let out a sigh, scratching his head, "What I mean is, you _are_ half Vulcan…have you done any research on proper _Vulcan_ interaction?"

Some of the brightness in Spock's beautiful eyes dimmed, and his tone was hard, "Of course I have, but _I_ do not prefer it."

Jim put his hands up in a show of passivity, "Hey, okay," he soothed. "I wasn't trying to insinuate that you should. I just…I worry about how you'll feel about things when you regain your identity, that's all. I don't want you to see you do anything that _normal you_ might find...for lack of a better word…shameful."

"You believe my emotions are shameful?" Spock looked suddenly downcast and Jim couldn't help his reaction. It was his turn to seize the arms of his downtrodden friend.

"No, _no_," Jim's voice was a fierce declaration, full of its conviction. "I could _never_ describe _anything_ about you as shameful, Spock, but I _know you._ You don't identify with Vulcan culture right now, because you don't remember your planet or your upbringing. Instead, here you are surrounded by humans and even though part of your heritage lies with us, that's never been your M.O. and when you _do_ _remember_, I don't want _you_ to feel ashamed for anything that you've done as you are right now."

"Thank you, Jim."The way Spock had looked at him, with such open adoration and trust had caused Jim's arms to itch with the urge to pull the Vulcan against him and never let go. Instead, he dropped his arms and he was about to turn around and reclaim his seat behind his desk when a hand caught his wrist, belaying his retreat, "Perhaps…I could experiment with human interaction with _you_ before employing what I learn in conversation with others."

Jim hadn't seen the harm in that suggestion at the time and had, quite stupidly, agreed to it. Hence his current predicament: less than four hours away from his wake up call, too aroused to sleep and too noble to jack off to the mental image of his best friend's strong hands pinning his hips to the mattress while his mouth engulfed Jim's throbbing dick and sucked. Agitated beyond sanity, Jim yanked a pillow from the other side of the bed and used it to muffle what would have been a frustrated groan loud enough to cause a red alert. Maybe he should just suffocate himself while he was at it, hell it couldn't be any worse than a week of constant blue balls, could it? At least death would provide some reprieve.

Erection still persistently straining against his clothes, Jim shucked the covers off the bed, got up, adjusted aforementioned hard-on and made his way to the joint bathroom. The door read vacant, _thank the stars_, and Jim entered with a cold shower in mind. What he got instead, was a full frontal view of deliciously nude Vulcan flesh. "Fuck," Jim threw up a hand over his eyes, "Sorry, Spock. The door said vacant."

He heard the sound of a towel unfolding, "I am decent, Captain, my apologies. I did not think to engage the lock at this hour."

Jim took several calming breaths, before opening his eyes and meeting the inquiring and oh-so endearing tilted head of his First. "It's okay," he reassured, chuckling to mask the shakiness of his voice, and averting his gaze to the shower stall, "I couldn't sleep. Thought I'd take a shower to, uh…relax." He risked another look at Spock, immediately regretting it when he noticed where the Vulcan's eyes were currently staring. He followed the line of sight to where the head of his erection was peeking out from the band of his trousers, as if to say 'hello' to its tormentor.

"Uh…" Jim stuttered, grabbing a towel from the shelf on his side of the fresher and wrapping it around his waist. "

Spock raised an eyebrow; his face the closest to pre-amnesic blankness Jim had seen thus far, "Jim, you need not be ashamed of a natural condition of human male physiology." He could feel all the blood draining from his face as the Vulcan nonchalantly approached him…a little _too _nonchalantly.

Jim stumbled backward, almost tripping over the backs of his pajama bottoms before two strong arms reached out to catch him. He froze when Spock bent his head to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, taking a deep inhalation, "I wonder," Spock's voice breathed heavily into his ear, "if you taste as good as you smell."

"Sp-Spock," Jim stuttered at the press of wall against his back. "Wh…What are you doing?"

Fathomless brown eyes gazed longingly into his, moist tongue darting out to lick over tantalizing Vulcan lips, before inhumanly strong, fire emblazing hands pinned Jim's hips against the wall. Slowly, eyes still locked on his, Spock dropped gracefully to his knees, pulling the towel free with his teeth, once again revealing the now weeping head of Jim's cock. He was boneless, completely lost in the reality surrounding him. The second that tongue licked over the slit in Jim' penis, he was off like a shot, his body arching of the wall, thick ropes of semen painting Spock's face as Jim opened his mouth and moaned, a long, loud, "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!"

Jim's eyes shot open, "What the—" the bathroom evaporated as Captain of the _Enterprise_ awoke to the blaring of his alarm, wet and sticky with his own ejaculate. "Alarm, OFF!" he shouted, chest still heaving from the first wet dream he'd had in ten years. "Goddamnit!" he cursed loudly at the room, flinging himself off the bed and toward the bathroom. Remembering his dream, Jim knocked despite the displayed 'vacancy' status on the door. When he heard nothing, he cautiously stepped through, then engaged the lock, tossed off his pants and hurled himself under a sonic.

"Fuck," he swore again later, stripping the soiled bedding and tossing it down the chute. _Goddamn touchy amnesic Vulcan, _he mentally cursed the man that resided in the adjoining quarters. There were only another few minutes before the sound of the buzzer would announce the arrival of his walking wet dream. At least that took care of the blue balls, Jim thought with a sigh, pulling his uniform shirt over his head, just in time for the chime to sound.

McCoy pulled out a bottle of his best Saurian brandy as he observed the mess that was his best friend and Captain, blonde head banging softly against the CMOs desk. It was noon-thirty and technically alcoholic beverages were not to be imbibed during shift, however, the doctor happened to have two anti-intoxicant hypos in his desk for just such an emergency as this.

"Alright, Jim," Bones placed a half-full snifter of brandy just out of striking distance from the Captain's head. "_What the hell_?" Bones took a long drag on his drink before Jim's head shot up, crazed blue eyes boring into the doctor.

"I haven't slept more than three hours at a time for the last week and a half, I can't focus on away missions, I can't focus on the bridge, I can't even focus on eating in the mess hall! And now…_now I'm having WET DREAMS!" _Jim nearly shouted the last, and thank heavens for military grade sound proofing and privacy glass, was McCoy's initial thought after promptly spraying his drink through his nose. That had been about the last thing he had expected to hear fly out of Jim's mouth. He'd figured it was the admiralty again or some other such Starfleet mudslinging that usually had Jim in here banging his head against the closest available surface.

When he finally managed to reign in his coughing fit and wipe the brandy from his face, McCoy practically growled his frustration, "The next time you're about to spout to me about your dysfunctional sex life, I'd appreciate a little _forewarning_."

Jim, properly chastised, muttered a soft, "Sorry."

McCoy shook his head, pushing the brandy aside, "Now, what seems to be the problem, Captain, sir?"

"It's Spock—"

"Oh, here we go," McCoy rolled his eyes at those two starting words. Of course it's Spock.

"Fuck you, Bones, you have NO idea what he's doing to me," Jim was up and pacing now, gesticulating violently with his arms.

"Then by all means, please, _elucidate_," the doctor intentionally hurled one of Spock's favorite verbs at the frantic Captain with a snigger.

"It's not funny!" Jim glared at the CMO. "Ever since he lost his memory he's been so…so…"

"Emotional?" McCoy supplied with a jaunty smirk.

"No!" Jim declared, then immediately amended, "I mean, _yes…_but that's not the problem." The Captain then sank into the chair once more, all the agitation and fight leaving him suddenly, causing McCoy to lose his grin, his mood sobering instantly.

"Alright," the doctor soothed. "Tell me what's going on. Last I heard from you about the little crush you had, you said you'd put it behind you. What's changed? What's he done that's got you so revved up, huh?"

Jim dragged a tired hand over his forehead, blue eyes no longer crazed, but tortured, "He's been…_touching_…" When McCoy's only response was a pair of furrowed brows, Jim plowed onward. He told Bones everything—from the electric feeling he got when their skin touched to Spock's subtle caresses on the bridge, on the planet, in the mess and now in his dreams. "I don't know what to do, Bones. I told him I'd help him with this, but its one inappropriate touch after another and I don't want to be too critical of him, you know? Constantly telling him he's misinterpreting the contacts he's apparently observing."

The doctor's eyes were narrowed into suspicious slits, "You said he's been observing interaction between the crew?"

Jim shrugged, "Yeah." He shook his head, "I can't believe there's _that much_ PDA going on in the corridors."

"Jim," McCoy's chuckle started softly until it grew into peals of laughter, "there ain't."

"What are you talking about?" The Captain's face was the picture of confusion.

His friend was grinning like the Cheshire cat, "You're bein' _played_." Bones spread his hands, "When I'm not in sickbay, I'm running the halls of this entire ship. There _is virtually no_ _PDA_, aside from the occasional peck on the cheek outside the turbolift…or holdin' hands in the mess." He paused, watching Jim put the pieces together, "That pointy-eared bastard knows _exactly_ what he's doin', I guarantee it."

Jim sat there, slack jawed as it all came together, "Son of a bitch," he muttered, "un-fucking- believable."

"So," the doctor pulled his friends attention back to the conversation, "looks like that fantasy of yours where you and Spock fly off into the galaxy together to live happily ever after, may have a shot after all."

"No," Jim's immediate, monotone denial sapped the jollies right out from under the doctor.

"Why not? What's the matter?" McCoy asked, incredulous, "He wants you…you want him. Where I come from, that's called consentin' adults."

"I would think it'd be obvious, _doctor._" Jim pinned him with an admonishing stare, "Spock's not himself right now and what's more—he _isn't gay or even bi_ that I can tell. Whatever he feels for me, it's all brought on by his amnesia."

"Is that what you think?" The doctor had started formulating his argument halfway through Jim's rant, "Spock's _amnesia_ doesn't have a damn thing to do with his _sexuality_." McCoy vehemently declared, "For people who are _truly_ homosexual—it's not a choice—it's _brain chemistry._ Whatever he's feeling for you—whatever this attraction is, Jim, its _real._"

Jim was immediately shaking his head, "It still doesn't matter. Even if Spock is legitimately attracted to me right now—it doesn't change anything. We've been working together—friends for almost two years now. For whatever reason, one he obviously just can't remember right now, he wasn't attracted to me before his accident. I'm not going to take advantage of him like that especially when I know for a fact he'd never go for me if he were fully cognizant—which he isn't right now, in case you've forgotten."

"How do you know that?" Bones asked, "Did you ever let _him know_ how _you feel_? You didn't, did you? How do you know he wasn't hiding his feelings too?"

"I don't," Jim's head was bowed, "but I love him too much to risk losing him over it."

McCoy exhaled in a huff, "Ah, Hell."

"…Yeah," Jim thought that pretty much summed it up.

He'd never forget her eyes, so full of love…so full of _forgiveness_. Spock could almost hear her telling him not to despair. Not to blame himself for what was happening as he watched, helpless, while his mother fell from the cliff to her premature death. The tether that had held his mother close to his heart seemed to snap apart, breaking into a million pieces as he stood, hand outstretched, staring into an empty transporter pad.

The woman who had birthed him, encouraged him…_loved him_. The only person that have ever _truly _loved him for the sum of _all _his parts…gone. Flashes of moments spent with Amanda in the garden of their family home, at bedtime while she read—the happiness she radiated and the warmth of her smile flittered across his consciousness before he screamed out in agony.

Sweating, chest heaving with tears pouring down his face, Spock shot up straight in his bed, memories of Amanda Grayson and her death now fully registering within him. A piece of himself had finally returned, and with it, such agonizing despair, guilt and regret. An emptiness he hadn't felt when he'd awakened in sickbay 16.9 days ago settled itself firmly within the beating Vulcan muscle of his all too human heart, "_Mother…_" he sobbed brokenly. How could he have forgotten her? How could look upon her memorial with such clinical indifference?

His loving mother was gone and the home his childhood along with it. Never again would his feet tread the sands of his ancestors. Never again would he drink from the waters of the Straight of Ha-Zen, gaze upon the peaks of Mt. Seleya or visit the grave of I-Chaya, his long dead companion, but first and only childhood friend. So cold was he now with grief, that before he realized what he was doing, Spock was entering the bathroom and banging on the adjoining door to Jim's quarters.

"Spock?" Jim's tired eyes were immediately alight with concern. Spock had seen very little of him over the past 5.9 days, between meetings with Starfleet headquarters and department inspections, the human had been too tired or too busy to accompany Spock to meals or play chess after shift.

Seeing him now, his heart heavy with a fresh sense of loss, Spock could not refrain from throwing himself into Jim's arms and burying his face in his beloved's neck, "_Jim_...she is…_gone_…gone with the mountains and the sands of Vulcan." How did he normally live with this all-consuming pain? Why hadn't he put more effort into studying the Vulcan tenants of control sent to him by Healer S'Jorrin? Was there some technique that he could learn that would allow him to survive this all-consuming pain?

Jim stood in the doorway of their shared bath at 0045, a sobbing Vulcan wrapped around him. For several shocked seconds, he was unsure of what to do until he heard Spock's tortured words whispered against his neck. _Oh, Spock. _How tragic that his first returned memory should be that of such great loss and sorrow. He'd been actively avoiding the Vulcan for several days, making up one excuse after another for the sake of preserving Spock's virtue. Tossing aside all the reasons that it was a bad idea, Jim slowly backed them into his bedroom and onto his bunk.

He organized their bodies so that they were laying down, Spock's head resting on his chest, as Jim ran soothing strokes up and down the back of his most treasured friend, his nose buried in silky, black hair. "I know," he whispered, his heart clenching painfully at the Vulcan's grief. "It's all gone now…but it'll be okay," Jim promised, his own eyes stinging at the sound of Spock's mournful sobs. He placed a tender kiss to the top of the head buried in his shoulder, "I'm here. It's alright. I'm here."

And that's how Jim woke up, Saturday morning, with a heart full of love that would no longer be leashed and his arms wrapped tenderly around Vulcan shoulders.


	4. Chapter 4

Waking was gradual for Jim, as today was his on-call day and no alarm had been set the night before. Saturdays were Jim's favorite day for two reasons: Sleeping and pancakes. This Saturday was apparently going to be very good, he thought in his state of half-sleep, cuddling closer to whatever the source of the abundant cozy heat in his bed was. He let out a contented sigh, feeling his blankets pull him closer, engulfing him in strong arms and kissing his forehead. His eyes snapped open and his body went rigid…wait…_what?_

"Good morning, Jim," Spock's baritone flooded through Jim's senses like a bucket of cold water. Blue eyes locked on to deep pools of molten chocolate. Spock had awakened to find himself comfortably pressed against the body of his Golden One—the only other being, aside from his mother, that had ever offered Spock unconditional acceptance…at least, that he could remember. He now found it easier to control the emotion awakened by last night's flood of remembrance.

While his memories of his mother and Vulcan were still incomplete, the connection he had been missing while learning of the planet and his mother's demise was now returned. It had been…unbearable, at first. Spock had only slept for three point two hours, and had been laying there peacefully in Jim's arms attempting and for the most part succeeding at applying the first tenants of Vulcan emotional mastery that S'Jorrin had provided him. More than that, however, the compassion and concern that had flowed forth from Jim's skin as he held Spock in the night…the overwhelming sense of home and..._love_…had soothed him, filled the empty ache of his heart and stayed his overwhelming sorrow.

When Spock pulled away slightly, to get a better view of his beautiful human, he was stunned by what he saw. Blue eyes were screwed shut, shoulders tensed, chest heaving and knuckles gripping painfully tight at the bed sheets—he looked as though he were restraining himself—from lashing out or weeping—Spock was unsure. "Jim?" he questioned, running soothing fingers over furrowed brows. "What is wrong?"

Jim opened his eyes, trying to keep his dick from catching up with reality—naked Spock, under a robe and cuddling closely to his side. "Nothing," he lied, gently moving away from Spock's touch and forcing himself to relax and sit up. "How are you feeling?"

Spock allowed his arm to drop quietly between them, "I am…better. Thank you for not turning me away."

"I would never turn you away, Spock," Jim immediately affirmed. "I'll always be there when you need me," he paused when he realized how much that sounded like a declaration, so he quickly amended with an unconvincing smile, "What are friends for, right?"

Spock had not failed to notice the way his beloved continued to inch away from him, and decided he was tired of playing games. "Indeed," Spock tilted his head and reached out a hand to grasp one of Jim's, scooting across the bed so that they were once again as close as they had been when the human had first awakened, "very close friends, I believe you told me. Although, I have wondered, Jim, why not more? Why not…" the Vulcan pressed his forehead against that of his prey, "Why not lovers? It is what you desire, is it not? It is what we both desire—"

Blue eyes that had closed at the touch of Spock's hand opened slowly, full of pain and longing, "You don't get it, do you?"

"What don't I 'get', Jim?" Spock intoned, determined to not allow Jim to act on the guilt he could feel in Jim's surface emotions. "The fact that you enjoy my touch…" he trailed a Vulcan kiss down the length of Jim's unclothed arm, "that you enjoy my company…" he pulled Jim's chin so he could force eye contact, "that you love me, Jim? I 'get it'—what is more, I _desire_ it. I have loved you since the moment I saw you."

"NO, you don't," Jim shook Spock's hand away. "God, I should have known…" He should have known that taking Spock in his arms last night was a bad fucking idea. Of course they had to wake up and of course it would lead to Spock driving him crazy with more touching. "Two years, Spock," He took a steadying breath as he prepared to turn away the being that he loved above all else, because it was the right thing to do. "We've been working, eating and spending time together for _two years_ now and you've _never_ said or done anything to indicate you feel that way about me." He pressed on, not allowing the Vulcan to interrupt, "Whatever you _think you feel_—it's not love, Spock. It's comfort…it's familiarity…friendly affection, but it _isn't love. _I know you, and you _don't_ love me…not like that…and soon, you'll remember why and if that happens while you're curled up against me, I'll never forgive myself. Why do you think I've been avoiding you?" Jim smirked, "I caught on to your little 'touch experiment' and can't let you keep doing things I know you won't be proud of later."

Spock's response was to push Jim flat against the headboard, straddling his thighs, knowing quite well that the Captain was no match against his Vulcan strength. He allowed a teasing tilt to the corners of his lips, "Avoiding me—that is what you have been doing these past days? Why? You enjoyed my touches, I could sense your arousal."

Jim couldn't think, couldn't breathe, let along form coherent sentences. Spock was straddling him, teasing him…what the hell should he do? "Spock, stop," he breathed, the word little more than a plea, "you aren't yourself right now."

Spock pulled Jim down the length of the bed until he once again flat on his back, "You are _too_ noble, and _far_ too confident in this perception of who I am which is, in fact, quite erroneous." Spock settled himself between Jim's flannel-clad thighs, his hands pinning the Captains arms—gently—to the mattress, "How can you possibly believe that you have a better understanding of me than…_me_? When I woke up in sickbay," Spock gently, sweetly…just barely rubbed their erections together, eliciting a low breathless moan from the man beneath him, "it was not simply familiarity that I sensed when I saw you, Jim. Your presence tugged at my very consciousness…my Vulcan Katra and my human soul."

Spock's heart clenched at the unshed tears brimming in Jim's eyes, "I have known it since you left me in my quarters that first night. I recognized you because I am…I _have been_—I know I have been in love with you for a long time. Please, beloved," Spock placed a kiss to Jim's parted lips, "do not deny this." He ran his thumbs from the corners of Jim's eye's, sweeping away the two tears that escaped.

Jim's felt it, the moment his restraint melted away and he accepted it—whatever it would bring, damnation or absolution, that he simply could not turn Spock away, that he'd never stood a chance really. Not when the Vulcan owned him so completely, not when it hurt so much to keep burying it within, hopeless and desolate for the one person he never thought would love him back. Yet, here was Spock, demanding Jim to love him and how could he possibly say no?

"Spock," his voice shook with the depth of his emotion, hands rising to thread through silky black hair, "You're right, I love you…I love you so much that normally it hurts just to look at you. I'd never think that in a thousand years you'd ever love me back, and I _know better_. I know this isn't real—that the second those memories come back, you're going to leave me," _like everyone else_ was left unsaid. He'd never been good enough for love from anyone else, not even his mother, and for just once…he wanted it. Jim swallowed the lump in his throat as piercing brown eyes radiated love and compassion…all for him and he _needed it_, "But I don't care anymore. If I can have you…even just for a little bit…I'll fucking take it."

With that, Jim pulled the Vulcan's lips to his own, finally tasting the forbidden and knowing with the depth of soul that consequences be damned, he'd never regret this and he'd never forget it. Spock wasn't the only one with eidetic memory, and Jim was pushing the mental record button, determined to keep this moment with him until the day he died. Slowly, so slowly, their bodies came together, their clothed erections rubbing slowly together, but it was enough to make them both gasp with pleasure.

"There is no need for doubt, beloved," Spock purred against his neck. "This _is_ real and I will _never_ leave you, never hurt you."

"Gods, Spock," Jim panted, wiggling free of his pajama pants with help from Vulcan hands, "I never had you pegged for a romantic."

"And yet you claim to know me so well," Spock's robe was shed and they shared a moan as their naked organs slid against one another.

"I wonder what else you've been hiding from me," Jim panted, flipping the Vulcan then taking both cocks in hand and caressing them in his fist.

"Oh," Spock gasped when Jim's thumb gently rubbed over the slit at his tip, trailing his fluid down and around the circumference of his doubled-ridged head. "I had not expected it to be so…"

"Intense?" Jim finished for him, unoccupied hand covering every inch of skin within its reach—petting, caressing, worshipping,"I've wanted you for so long, but I never thought…_Ah! God_...never thought I'd have you like this, so…oh—open." Their mouths came together again, Spock's tongue twining with his own and Jim knew he wouldn't last much longer—not with Spock writhing and moaning beneath him, strong hands kneading his ass.

Spock felt the tension in his loins uncoil and then he was climaxing, his seed rushing from his organ and covering Jim's hand and cock. He watched, enraptured and thoroughly sated, as blue eyes widened in ecstasy, blonde head thrown back and mouth opened a long, low moan as the human cock twitched against his own, their combined release mixing between them. Jim collapsed beside the Vulcan, pulling him into his arms, and savoring the closeness.

He felt like he was in another wet dream because surely this had not just happened—wasn't happening—Spock's head resting on his shoulder, the Vulcan's arms wrapped securely around him as they both lie there silent and sated. He closed his eyes and allowed himself the happiness of this moment. If Spock remembered everything and he left the _Enterprise_ and Jim tomorrow, he'd at least have this.

"Jim," Spock's smooth baritone broke the comfortable silence between them, "You need not worry, beloved. It will never happen."

Jim let out a breathy chuckle, "Y'know, it's really not fair for you to be reading my mind."

"My apologies, Jim," Spock placed a kiss to a stubbled jaw, "I will endeavor to ignore the powerful feelings you continue broadcast like a satellite."

"Sorry," Jim traced the point of an ear, as he'd desired to do for so long. "I forgot."

"It is alright," Spock averted his gaze, feeling slightly ashamed, "I should have been trying harder to practice control…over the telepathy…over the emotions. I did not fully recognize how…overwhelming they could be. I had thought I could be…that I could choose—"

"Hey, don't beat yourself up about it," Jim ran soothing hands through black hair, another something he'd wanted to do for a very, very long time, "There's nothing wrong with wanting to explore the different sides of yourself and you seem to be keeping it together now."

"Perhaps, but it was irresponsible of me not to at least dedicate more time to understanding the logic and principles behind Vulcan culture and control," he paused to place a kiss to Jim's lips.

"Do you wanna talk about, you know, what you remembered?" Jim encouraged.

"Are you sure you would not rather indulge in breakfast?" Spock teased, hearing Jim's stomach rumble.

"It can wait—"

"It cannot," Spock placed another kiss to Jim's jaw and rolled out of the bed. He threw on his robe and turned back to beckon Jim to follow him. "Come. We are both in need of a sonic and nourishment. We can talk over…pancakes."

The next two weeks passed in a happy blur for Jim as he and Spock had been spending all of their evenings together, sharing beds and showers and discovering the Vulcan's memories together. It seemed that since that first night, Spock had been having moments, both during wakefulness and sleep, where he would be inundated with past experiences of his childhood, attending school at the Academy, teaching xenolinguistics and afternoons with his mother in the garden at their family home on Vulcan. He knew it was only a matter of time before—_No_, he wasn't going to think of that.

He was going to focus on the time they were spending together now. Jim had decided that first day, that he wasn't going to leash his feelings. He would give Spock all the love and affection he wanted for as long as he wanted. In the meantime, he wouldn't think of the what-ifs, he wouldn't think about the fallout that was sure to come or the disgust Spock would feel once he came back to himself. No, Jim was content to live in the moment, content to spend his days working and his evenings loving. It was nice, loving someone that actually loved him in return. Knowing that for every minute Jim spend thinking about Spock, that Spock was thinking about him too.

When he woke up in the morning wrapped up in warm arms, smiling brown eyes staring back at him, Jim could almost imagine that this would go on forever. If it weren't for the fact that Spock almost never called him by his rank when they were together or that slight upturn of the lips—a full on grin for a Vulcan—he might be able to delude himself into believing that it was real. It was a nice fantasy…for however long it would last.

When little by little, Spock began to be less and less expressive, Jim knew it was almost over. Then, the Vulcan came to his quarters one night, a little over a month since his accident and Jim had been expecting the worst. Spock seemed every bit the controlled First Officer he had always known and he found himself fidgeting with a stylus as Spock took the seat on the other side of Jim's desk, determinedly not glancing over to the sleeping area.

They had awakened together that morning, legs entwined and still messy from the previous night's activities. He had known then that it would probably be their last time together before Spock remembered everything. The only details the Vulcan had been missing were the events leading up to and during the Narada crisis, he'd regained everything but the last two years of his life. Even though it gave Jim some comfort to know that Spock could have loved him had they met differently—that Bones had been right about sexuality—he knew once his First Officer remembered those last two years…it was over.

So, he'd taken Spock to bed like it was the last time he'd ever get to do so—because it was, and he knew it. He'd drank in the Vulcan's kisses like a dying man in the desert sucks water from a cactus. Jim's lips had mapped every inch of that beautiful, pale skin, his tongue had tasted every morsel of flesh offered and he had swallowed every bit of Spock's essence when it spilled into his mouth. Jim had taken time to love Spock in every way physically possible, aside from actual penetration. It was illogical—to borrow a phrase—he knew, but he figured that when the Vulcan regained his memories, then he may not be as pissed at Jim if he didn't cross that line. Looking into the eyes of the being across from him, it was clear.

At some point during the day either while working on the bridge, deep in meditation or working on one of the projects down in sciences, Spock had remembered everything. It was one thing to read a report of the things that were said and done during the Narada Crisis, of all the missions they'd been on and the arguments they'd had since then, but it was quite another to be in that moment. To know that you lived through them and to know that the man you thought you loved for six weeks…isn't what you thought he was. The chess games, the meals and conversations they'd shared over the past two years couldn't possibly make up for all the hurt Jim had caused. He'd been trying like crazy to earn Spock's friendship and he'd been succeeding and then Spock had lost all of who he was and what did Jim do? A few little touches and he'd caved, given in to his heart's desire knowing full well that this is where it would lead. _Fuck._

Jim's heart clenched painfully, knowing what was to come. Here was Spock. Here was the man he had fallen in love with, completely aware of who he is and all the reasons he didn't love Jim in return, poised to rip his Captain's heart out. "Hey, Spock," he greeted, feeling his throat close in on itself. "You need something?"

"An explanation," the Vulcan intoned, his eyes stern, leaving no room for speculation as to what exactly Jim was to explain.

All the air in Jim's lungs left him instantly and he dropped his head, "Oh, Spock," his voice was shaking with the weight of his despair, "I'm so sorry." His heart felt like it was shriveling up inside and the tears were falling before he could stop them. "If you want to file charges…if you want to leave, I—" he took a calming breath that really didn't help, "I won't stop you."

"That will not be necessary," Spock's monotone flowed between them. "If anyone is at fault for this…misunderstanding…it is I." The Vulcan did the unexpected then, and rounded the desk. He pulled Jim out of his chair and into an embrace, "I could feel your love…knew your weakness and I used it to manipulate you into acting upon your emotions. It is my regret that you will bear such pain, but you were right. This must end now and we must return to how we were before. You are my most valued friend, and I cherish thee as such. Please, Jim, forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive," Jim whispered through his sobs. "I'm just relieved that y-you don't hate me."

Jim didn't know how long he stood there, crying in Spock's arms but when they finally parted, he was exhausted. He watched, listlessly, as the Vulcan collected the few items that had migrated to Jim's quarters. Finally, Spock came to stand before him once more, "I will require a week of leave to meditate on the events of this past month and to refocus my controls."

"Whatever you need," Jim's voice sounded as empty as he felt.

With a nod, Spock left him there, heart bleeding out and soul screaming it's agony in silence.

Spock returned to his quarters and bit back the bile that was rising in the back of his throat. It was better this way. Jim would be safe this way—spared from suffering such depravity. He sank to his knees upon the meditation mat that he seldom used in the past weeks. It was a pity that his control was already so tenuous, having been unleashed by his amnesic self…otherwise; he might have at least had a few more days to live in Jim's embrace before it overcame him. _Kaidth_, he thought as he closed his eyes, the flames of the fire rising from the depths of his consciousness and burning him alive. His last thought, before all coherency abandoned him was, _Please, Jim, T'hy'la. Forgive me. I did not know._


	5. Chapter 5

"Well, that sucks," Leonard McCoy, for once, had no snarky reply to offer, no good humor to lighten the mood and he knew that no amount of strong liquor would dull the pain he was seeing in those blue eyes across from him. He just couldn't believe it, "Are you sure he doesn't—"

"I'm sure," Jim's voice was hollow, devoid of all the joy of his soul. "Spock doesn't love me. He never did and…I knew this would happen."

Bones shook his head, heart breaking for his friend—so full of love and so deserving of it and yet no one that Jim has ever loved has seen fit to return it, but they've certainly used it to their own advantage. Jim's mother didn't even celebrate her son's birthday as a child, hadn't been around long enough to read a report card and didn't even show up to her son's graduation and promotion ceremony. Then, a year into their mission, she comm's Jim out of the blue, says they're going to lose the Kirk farm if he doesn't wire funds immediately. Turns out the farm was never in any danger and Winona had used the money, combined with some of her own, to buy her brother Frank—Jim's childhood abuser—a pardon from Iowa's governor. As far as McCoy knew, she hadn't so much as comm'd her son since, not even to offer an explanation, but she sure as hell broke his heart and Jim had just let it go.

Then, there was Sam, the brother Jim would have done anything for—ran off and left him for the fucking wolves when they were kids. They had reunited while Jim was still in the academy, but when Jim refused to help Sam hack into the United Federation National Bank to skim some of the credits off the tops of some accounts belonging to wealthy Ambassadors (Sarek of Vulcan being one of them), he'd kicked Jim to the curb without so much as a by your leave. The worst though, was Carol. Jim had met her before joining the academy, planned his life around her and their unborn child. What does she do? She runs off with her ex and aborts the baby. She'd been using Jim to make the other man jealous and she discarded Jim and their son like trash. McCoy considers it a happy accident that the bar Jim decided to drown his sorrows in that night had led him to Starfleet. And now Spock. _Goddamnit, Spock!_

The Vulcan had roped Jim in—hook, line and sinker. The Captain had been mooning over the hobgoblin for the better part of a year—programming the replicators to produce a larger variety of Vulcan entrees, increasing the bridge and corridor temperatures by six degrees (_Is it me, or is it nippy around here? The Captain had asked, not fooling anyone. Except maybe Spock),_ making sure that when upgrade schedules were handed down from Starfleet, Sciences received their modifications right after Engineering and Sickbay and let's not forget all the pacing whenever Spock happened to catch injury or illness.

Then the hobgoblin had gone and lost his memories and along with it his inhibitions and logic. He'd pulled Jim in, seduced him with loving touch and whispered words of affection, only to drop him on his head? McCoy couldn't believe that even Spock, operating under the tenants of Vulcan logic and control, stoically robotic and unemotional—could ever be so fucking cruel.

"You say he's taking an entire week for meditation?" Bones leaned forward, hoping to glean some kind of insight as to _why._

"Yeah," Jim sighed, "Said he needs to process and refocus…I mean…he did pretty much blow off his Vulcan culture for an entire month—didn't meditate or anything. He only started trying to practice control when he got that first memory back."

"That was same night the two of you…"

"Actually, _that_ was the next morning," Jim scrubbed a hand over his bloodshot eyes. "I just don't get it, Bones. I mean, I know I should just walk away and forget it, but I can't. I thought I could do this…I thought I was prepared to let him go but now all I can think of about is how I'm gonna get him back. What do I do? What can I say to him to make him—" Jim broke off, his voice catching again, "to make him love me again? God, I'm pathetic."

"You're not pathetic," Bone replied, his eyes radiating the conviction of that statement. "There's no way, not after what I've seen this past _year_ not just the last month—that he doesn't love you. Maybe he's overwhelmed, maybe he's scared…it's got to be _something_, but it ain't for a lack of love, I'd stake my life on it—the hobgoblin's lyin'."

Jim shook his head, "Vulcan's don't lie—"

"That's a crock and you know it," McCoy felt his ire starting to rise. Where was the Jim Kirk that didn't believe in no-win scenarios? "Spock's half human, in case you forgot and he didn't have any problem deceiving you when he was trying get into your pants."

"He wasn't himself—"

"Again, Jim, horseshit," McCoy cut him off with a sweep of his hands. "Spock's memory return was gradual. He was as much himself these past four weeks as he is right now. He'd regained his ability to shield and control his emotions, he remembered every aspect of his life up until two and half years ago when the two of you first met and yet that didn't stop him—_for weeks_—from crawling into bed with you, did it?"

Jim thought back to the conversation he had with Spock three nights ago…_you were right. This must end now and we must return to how we were before. You are my most valued friend, and I cherish thee as such. Please, Jim, forgive me. _It wasn't an outright denial, but it had sounded very final when Spock had said it. Still, he didn't specify what Jim had been _right_ about… "No," Jim responded, sounding a little less hollow.

"Listen," Bones rounded the desk, coming to lean against it facing his best friend, "You want my honest opinion?"

"Do I ever have a choice?" Jim half-smiled.

"You march your ass over there, kick in that pointy-eared bastard's door and you make him tell you why," the doctor was on a rant now. "You make him tell you what is about you that he just can't love? You make him give you a real reason."

"I'd rather not hear what his reasons are," Jim admitted solemnly.

Bones bent down, making sure blue eyes were looking right into his own, "He doesn't have any reasons, Jim."

Nyota Uhura was not an idiot and quite frankly, the fact that Spock would believe she'd buy any of this was rather insulting. She looked at the message on her PADD, reading through it one more time, just to get herself nice and worked up all over again. She was going to need that fire to kick some ass later.

_Nyota,_

_ As you may already be aware, I have requested some personal time to meditate this week in order to process the events of my injury and subsequent amnesic episode. I wish to thank you for being supportive of me this past month. I realize that much of my behavior toward you could have been construed as insensitive. I regret my bluntness in my ignorance of our past romantic engagement and any pain I may have caused as a result. _

_ Furthermore, I thank you for your friendship which you offered even when faced with the actualization of my inappropriate emotionalism toward the Captain. When I spoke to you in your quarters, regarding the recovery of my memories of our acquaintance at the Academy you were open and honest in your responses. You stated that you were happy that I was finally able to confess my feelings for James. Unfortunately, these feelings are inconsequential and illogical where duty is concerned._

_I have spoken with the Captain and he has agreed that our relationship is best served by returning it to the friendship we shared previous to my accident. I regret having troubled you this past week with details regarding my affection for him, and for causing you undue pain. It was never my intention to do so. Please forgive my temporary ignorance. _

_ Sincerely,_

_ Spock_

_Spock, you coward,_ Nyota thought vehemently, re-reading the line where Spock dumped Jim. She would have never thought Spock capable of such meanness, not in his right mind anyway. She may not have always thought very highly of Kirk, but ever since he'd taken command of the _Enterprise_ and she'd had the opportunity to watch him grow, not just as a commander but as a person as well, and Nyota had been honored to count him among her friends and proud to call him her Captain. When Spock had come to her and explained that he was having inappropriate thoughts about Jim, that he believed he may be homosexual, Nyota had taken it in stride.

Sure, it hurt, but she was a big girl and it wasn't like it was Spock's fault that his physiology couldn't align with his logic. Sexuality wasn't a choice and she had told Spock, tearfully—she'll admit it, that they would still be friends and that whatever he decided to do, she'd support him. _Well,_ she told herself, pushing the comm button on the terminal inside her quarters, _I guess I lied._ No, Nyota was no fool and she recognized a Vulcan good-bye letter when she saw it. Something was wrong and Spock was doing what Spock did best to deal with it—holing himself away and trying to handle it alone. Well, fuck that, thank you very much.

"Uhura to Captain Kirk," she called, waiting for the computer to patch her through to the Captain.

"Kirk here," came the solemn voice of the usually vibrant Captain. Kirk, especially these past few weeks, was usually the epitome of all things humor and good cheer. The last three days he'd been a shell of himself. Snapping at his yeoman and refusing any invitations for card games or company at meal time. Kirk and Spock had been very discrete in regards to their new relationship. The only reason Nyota knew was because Spock had told her and she was pretty sure the only reason McCoy knew was because Jim had told him. Otherwise, as far as anyone else was concerned, Jim's foul mood and aloof demeanor could have been caused by anything. The gossip was leaning toward trouble with the Admiralty, but Uhura knew the truth. Jim was heartbroken and it was time it came to an end.

"Captain, I need to speak with you immediately," she kept her voice grave. "It's a…_personal_ emergency."

Jim's voice was in Captain mode, "I'm on my way, Kirk out."

Fifteen minutes later, Jim realized that the personal emergency the Lieutenant had been referring to was his own, not hers. "Look, Uhura," Jim stated, trying to make his way to the door the second the words, 'Spock's in love with you' were the first to come flying out of her mouth. "I appreciate whatever it is you think you're trying to accomplish, but Spock made it pretty clear that he made some regrettable decisions as a result of his amnesia and—"

He was cut off abruptly when Nyota gripped his shoulders and forced him bodily away from the door and into a chair. Damn, she was strong for someone barely over five feet and 120 pounds. "Sit down and shut up," she demanded. "You need to hear what I have to say."

Jim let out a sigh of resignation, and slouched back into the chair, "Fine. I'm all ears."

A sympathetic glint came to her eyes as she took in how defeated the usually unflappable James Kirk appeared, "I know what happened between you and Spock and I know how much you love him. I think anyone who looked close enough would notice."

Jim's cheeks grew with the heat of his embarrassment, "Peachy."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," she reprimanded. "In fact, who would have thought you had such good taste?"

His answering chuckle was soft, but it still brought a smile to her face, "I've seen how hurt you are and I can't help but wonder…why aren't you and Spock still…you know?" Though very telling for Spock, the Vulcan's letter had been vague and Nyota wanted to be sure before she divulged anything.

"When he remembered the past two years, he told me he just wanted to be friends again. I knew he would do that, but it…_hurts,_" he kept his eyes on the floor, knowing that if he looked up and saw sympathy swimming in those eyes he'd be a mess…well, a bigger mess and where would that leave his male dignity?

"Look, whatever he told you, it isn't true," she insisted, her voice full of certainty.

"What the hell? Have you and Bones been swapping notes or something?" Jim huffed, annoyed. Why was everyone trying to give him false hope? Wasn't it bad enough that he had convinced himself to ignore his better judgment in the first place? Feeding his own false hope was what had gotten him into this mess to begin with.

"No," Nyota crouched to meet his gaze, taking his hand, "Do you know why Spock and I broke up? Did he ever tell you about _those memories_?"

Jim swallowed a nervous lump, "No."

"Do you know what T'hy'la means in Vulcan?" She asked, continuing when he shook his head in reply. "Its closest translation to Standard is Soulmate, but it's more than that. Ancient Vulcan warriors, many of which spent their entire lives at war fighting with the men beside them, would sometimes forge a rare bond between brothers in arms. The concept of T'hy'la is friend, brother and lover. It is among one of the most rare and revered bonds among modern Vulcan society. Or well, what is left of it."

"What does any of this have to do with me and Spock, we aren't bonded. We aren't tahilla," he shrugged defiantly, ready to get the hell out of here so he could go sulk alone.

"It has _everything_ to do with you," she pushed him back into the seat. "Do you remember the mission to Dorian VII? I'm sure you do. Spock had to meld with you to save your life. Do you know what he found when he entered your mind?"

"I don't know—the flying spaghetti monster?" Jim snorted.

"Oh get off the whambulance already," She narrowed her eyes. "James T. Kirk, Mr. I don't believe in no-win scenarios going down without a fight? You need to hear this: Spock _is_ in love with you—has been for nearly a year. He came to me a couple months before that mission to break it off. Do you know why? Because he discovered that he was not only homosexual, but also had quote inappropriate feelings for the Captain." She rolled her eyes at Jim's stunned expression. "Oh, it gets better—for you, anyway. After that mission, he comes in here and starts _pacing, _Jim…Spock—pacing. I've never seen him so agitated, aside from the time he choked you on the bridge."

"Those were extreme circumstances," He defended, hope beginning to resurface.

"Anyway, he keeps going on and on about how illogical it is and how it just cannot be and how it hasn't happened for thousands of years and blah blah blah, literally doing the Vulcan version of a panic attack. Apparently, when his mind touched yours during that meld, his Katra recognized you as T'hy'la."

Jim's brow furrowed, "Okay, so if this T'hy'la thing is so important to him, then why doesn't he want to be with me?"

Nyota shook her head, "I don't know what's wrong, but something definitely is. I think you should check on him. Try to talk to him, something."

Jim sat there for a minute, considering. It didn't make any sense. If what Uhura had said was true, and there was no reason for her to lie to him, then why wouldn't Spock want to be with him? Decided, he stood suddenly, "You're right. I _don't_ believe in no-win scenarios. I'm gonna go talk to him." He paused at the door, turning toward the Lieutenant, "Thank you, Nyota." Her answering smile helped to solidify his resolve as he marched through the door and down the corridor to his own room.

It was worse than any of them could have imagined. The first clue Jim received that something was very wrong indeed, was the fact that Spock had activated the secondary lock system to both the main door of his quarters and the door of the adjoining bathrooms. He had to contact Scotty and ask the Chief Engineer to trick Spock's bathroom door into thinking there was a ship-wide power outage so that it would unlock. He promised he'd explain later.

Upon entering the sweltering cabin, it was the smell that overtook him. Feces, urine, vomit, dried blood and ejaculate permeated the air, causing Jim to gag and push his nose into his shirt. He immediately called for Bones. "I need you in Spock's quarters, right now," he ordered. "Come alone and bring a small hazmat team—one or two trustworthy individuals."

"I'll be right there," Bones' voice was grave with his concern, knowing that shit must have really hit the fan if Jim was calling for Hazmat and discretion.

Jim found Spock, unconscious on his meditation mat, deathly pale and covered in all manner of biological waste. He immediately rushed to the collapsed Vulcan's side, "Spock!" His panicked voice echoed in the room around them. He ran hands down the length of the Vulcan's body, checking for external injuries, calming fractionally when he found none, but Spock's pulse was weak and his breathing eerily shallow. Doing what came naturally in times of crisis, Jim's survival instincts took over. He stripped Spock of his soiled robes and carried him to their bathroom, placing the Vulcan into the basin and dialing in a water shower.

Jim then proceeded to wash day old vomit from Vulcan hair, making sure to lather soap over every inch of skin the Vulcan possessed. He turned Spock onto his side to clean behind ears, scrub over back and behind knees, gently washing Spock's undercarriage with clinical, forcibly detached care. By the time Bones made it to the bathroom, the doctor was pulling a medical mask over his face, "What the hell is that stench?"

"It's Spock's quarters," Jim replied softly, flipping off the shower and gently toweling Spock dry. He turned to Bones, who was bending to inject Spock with a fever reducer, "Where's the hazmat team?"

"I told them to wait in your office," Bones replied. "Let's get him lying down. We'll take him to your room while they clean up."

Together, they lifted Spock from the floor of the shower and carried him to Jim's bed. "I'll give hazmat their orders—you figure out what the hell is going on with him."

"He's in Pon Farr," Bones informed the Captain when he returned from the Commander's quarters, hazmat having completed the cleanup and the air system in Spock's room working to filter out any remaining bacteria. The space wouldn't be livable for another twenty-four hours at any rate.

Jim didn't know everything about Vulcans, but he knew about the mating cycle. Everything suddenly clicked. _Son of a bitch, Spock_, Jim mentally cursed the Vulcan, unconscious on his bed and he fired off a series of rampant questions, "What the _hell was he thinking_? How far has it progressed? Is there still time?"

"He's just inside the blood fever as far as I can tell, but I've got him tranq'd," McCoy leveled a stare at Jim. "The second it wears off, he won't be in control. He'll need to mate, immediately and if he's too far gone it could be violent."

"I don't care," was Jim's immediate reply, stripping off his clothes. "Help me get prepared while he's still out."

"Jim," McCoy tried to warn.

"Don't," the blonde rifled through McCoy's med case until he found an enema kit. He tossed it to the doctor, "Just help."

McCoy nodded, following Jim into the bathroom, knowing this was the only option for Spock's survival. He just hoped the Vulcan didn't break Jim's heart again when it was over.

Spock fluttered into wakefulness an hour and half later, wondering idly if he was dead yet and if not, how much longer would it take? He sighed contently for a moment, feeling warmer and more comfortable than he had in…how many days had it been? How long had it been since he broke his T'hy'la's heart and forsaken himself to this fate? _Oh, Jim…_

He groaned when he felt his organ begin to stiffen once more, the sharp ache in his internal testicles beginning yet again. Spock could weep at his own helplessness at his own misfortune. He was about to attempt to sit up when cool hands ran up his chest and gently grasped his shoulders, "Hey," the voice of his beloved poured over his soul, warming him inside and out. Spock's eyes snapped open.

"Jim!" Spock's voice was a desperate exaltation. "Oh, Jim. T'hy'la, you should not be here. I cannot control…not safe…"

"It's okay," Jim shushed, running a talented hand over chest hair, abdominal muscles—down, down, down until finally, it wrapped around Spock's unquenchable organ, pulling delectably from base to right below head, over and over, slowly and steadily. Human lips pressed themselves against a hungry Vulcan mouth, licking, sucking, nibbling and nipping. When their mouths finally parted, Spock was fully awake and his eyes were beginning to dilate and Jim knew that this might be Spock's last moments of lucidity for a while. He grasped Spock's chin with his hand and forced the Vulcan to look at him, "I love you and I want you to know, that no matter what happens after this, I will _always_ be yours. Don't you ever hide away from me again…T'hy'la."

Something snapped within Spock at Jim's words and he seized human lips in a fiery kiss, grasping Jim's hips and positioning his entrance over his engorged penis, "_No,_" he shook his head. "Never," he promised, "never again, T'hy'la…Oh..." he moaned, his erection painfully distracting as once again he felt the flames threaten to overtake him. "_Please_…_Jim…Golden One…sheath me…"_


	6. Chapter 6

"…_Sheath me…" _the haggard plea for contact cut Jim's heart into pieces. Why had Spock hidden from him? Was Pon Farr really so shameful that Spock would rather try to meditate it away or die before coming to Jim for help? Was it really so dangerous for a human…for _Jim_? Feeling the strength of the truly alien fingers pressing into his hips, on the verge of being painful, Jim knew that the fever Spock was suffering certainly had the potential to be so, but it could have been prevented. He'd had the misfortune of reading a report sent to Bones a few months after the Narada Crisis. It was how he first learned of Pon Farr, the Vulcan mating cycle, which in itself was nothing more than a heightened mating drive. It was the Plak Tow that was dangerous, a relentless fever that completely stripped Vulcans of their logic…their very identity. It wasn't supposed to be this way, of course, but with so many Vulcans having lost their mates, there had been a few rare instances where those suffering from the blood fever had died, quite painfully and quite violently, choosing to lock themselves away rather than seek another mate.

Jim bent forward, taking Spock's head in his hand and stroking the sweating brow with a tender caress of his thumbs, "Ssshhh," he breathed against parted, panting lips, "I'll take care of you, I promise." Fearful brown eyes stared back at him, full of pain and desperation while Spock continued to hold onto his conscious self by a thread. Jim shook his head, a comforting smile gracing his lips as he sat up and removed Spock's hands from his waist, "Can you follow my lead? Hmm? Can you let _me_ bring you relief?"

The Vulcan's answer was to ball his hands at his sides, fisting them into the sheets and nodding his head slowly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed loudly around his trepidation. He could feel baser instincts rising to take over, his skin on fire as all higher levels of thought began receding to the back of his consciousness. When he felt a cool hand wrap gingerly around his organ, pumping slowly, the urge to throw Jim to the floor and make the human give him what he wanted spiked within but he did not acquiesce. _No,_ he heard his own voice echo within his mind, _he…is not…to be harmed. Must control…so…cool…touch…ah…soft…more…touch…_

Jim could tell that Spock was fading fast as he pulled the Vulcan's cock to an angle that would allow him to ease quickly down upon it. "That's it," Jim soothed as the head breeched the first ring of muscle, "you're doing so good." A breathy moan escaped past his lips as the double ridges rubbed over the second ring of muscle and against the walls of his channel. He'd not yet gone this far with Spock, fearing that when his ever-stoic, tightly controlled First regained his memories, intercourse would be far too much to forgive. Now was not to time to think of it though, and Jim pushed his thoughts aside to give his full attention to bringing Spock the relief…_the_ _pleasure_ he so needed…so very well deserved.

By the time the Vulcan was fully seated inside of him, Jim could feel Spock trembling with need and decided it would probably best to make this first round as quick and relieving as possible. With that goal in mind, Jim leaned back, impaled, and placed his hands on Spock's knees, rolling his hips forward and moaning at the pressure the position put on his prostate. The Vulcan's reaction was to throw his eyes open and feast on the image of his mate, riding him… surrendering himself in the most primal of ways. Jim's head was thrown back as he moved, sliding his ass up down the length of the Vulcan's shaft, rotating his hips on every down thrust, his chest heaving with wanton pants, cock hard and rubbing against the hot skin of Spock's abdomen. The very small portion of Spock that was still aware of himself, wanted to tell Jim how beautiful he was, how warm, how loved…what came out was little more than a lustful growl.

"What was that?" Jim smirked, meeting Spock's feral gaze, "You want it harder?" He thrust down with force, causing them both to moan loudly, "Faster?" He did it again, three times in quick succession, following up with one long, slow pull then three more hard, fast thrusts. He then bent forward and forced their mouths together in a hungry kiss, sucking Spock's tongue into his mouth as he raised his hips, pulling Spock's cock almost all the way out before slamming down one final time and rolling his hips in a wide circle, pushing them both over the edge. Jim rode Spock's dick through their orgasms, loving how it throbbed within him, filling him full of hot, heavy cum until it was running down his balls and onto the mattress.

He could feel the remaining erection still inside him, but his legs were trembling too hard to maintain the rhythm he'd set prior to their climax. So, he pulled at Spock's shoulders and rolled them over, happily bearing the Vulcan's weight and warmth, noticing once again that his lover was restraining himself, probably wanting desperately to move but unsure that Jim was ready, "It's okay," he ran soothing hands up and own Spock's biceps. "You're so good…so hot and hard…" he thrust up from the bed in encouragement, taking his index and middle finger and brushing them lovingly over Spock's hard, copper nipples, "Don't stop, baby," his voice was a husky whisper. "I want to feel you."

The final thread of Spock's restraint fell away and he drove himself in and out of his T'hy'la's body, offered so freely, so selflessly that he could no longer resist. With a feral growl, he hooked an arm around one leg and the other around under Jim's shoulders, heaving the pliant human bodily to him—wanting, claiming, having, owning. He sank teeth into golden flesh, tasting the sweet of skin and sweat and blood—all that gave life to the beloved being panting and writhing beneath him. Cool human hands pressed into Spock's lower back, fingers sliding all the way down to the base of his ass and pulling Spock closer, further within and he was lost; Lost to illogic and heat and want and _need_—Lost to whispers of love and lust, cool touch of fingers and hands, sweet licks of tongue and nips of teeth—Lost to Jim and all his golden beauty, velvet voice, silken skin and human heart. With a long, deep push, Spock emptied himself into the depths of his lover as they clenched around him, thrusting slowly until at last his organ began to soften and Jim's entrance was overflowing with his essence.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it felt like they'd been fucking for hours—hard, Vulcan cock pumping in and out of him, sometimes slow and tender other times hard and desperate but every sensation welcome and so fucking good. When Spock finally collapsed, Jim was sticky, sweating and incapable of motion. He had found himself responding in record time to Spock's firm, but sensual dominance within the first five minutes of that second round, his prostate so thoroughly stimulated that he'd come four more times, twice for sure without any actual evidence, before Spock had finally fallen over. He let a breathy chuckle escape, it was official: his balls were completely depleted. In fact, _he _was completely depleted, but the feeling of sticky was starting to get to him and his stomach was growling with a vengeance. No, he needed a shower and food before he needed rest and with Spock temporarily sleeping, now was definitely the time.

Some time later, Jim's stomach was full and his body was clean. He peaked over at the rumpled bed to see if Spock had moved…_nope._ Deciding that clothes would only be a hindrance, Jim had been prancing around his cabin in nothing but a towel and slippers, cleaning the bed around Spock (removing as many 'wet spots' as possible), checking his communications from the brass, signing off on the few bits of paperwork that couldn't be delegated down the chain of command and finally, comming Bones to let him know that so far, so very, very good.

"Jim! Are you okay? Is it working? Any injuries? How's the hobgoblin holding up?" Bones had fired away the second a channel had opened between them.

"_BooOOOooones,"_ Jim had groaned, pinching his nose. "I'm fine, pretty sure it's working, I got bit…a little and Spock is asleep."

"Spock _bit_ you?" Bone practically guffawed. Of course, everything took a back seat to Jim's minor bite wound.

"It was a love bite," Jim mumbled, embarrassed. Whatever happened between he and Spock during Pon Farr wasn't up for conversation. It was personal and Jim didn't want to share this piece of his lover—this time of them together—with anyone else.

McCoy, ever perceptive, seemed to catch onto Jim's reluctance, "Does it hurt? Do you need some pain killer?"

"Nah," Jim shook his head, smile returning as he thought of the moment Spock had claimed him—because Jim knew that's exactly what the Vulcan had been doing. No…it didn't hurt at all.

"Fine, just be sure to rub some antiseptic on it," McCoy grumbled.

"I will," Jim reassured.

They sat there, staring at one another as the silence grew steadily awkward. Jim coughed and looked away, "I should probably…uh…"

"Yeah, yeah," Bones was actually blushing, "You don't wanna, uh, he'll probably…uh…hell…you know."

"Right," Jim chuckled. "Talked to you later."

"Yeah…" Bones nodded. They both pressed the 'end transmission' button at the same time.

After the awkward call to Bones and a good twenty minutes of lounging in his chair—massage pad working the soreness out of his legs and lower back—Jim figured he'd better prepare himself for the next round and headed to the bathroom, noticing Spock stirring slightly as he grabbed up the prep kit the good doctor had given him. _Better hurry_, he thought.

Jim had lubed and loosened himself in record time—which basically meant faster than the first time—and was bent over the sink, washing his hands when hot arms encircled his waist, shocking him into looking up. His eyes caught Spock's hot gaze in the mirror as Vulcan lips sucked at his neck, ear and shoulder. Deciding it was probably best to just go with it, Jim braced his hands on the counter and leaned his head back, grinding his ass against the hardness pressing between his cheeks. Spock hummed his pleasure against Jim's neck as one hot hand twined into wheat-colored hair and gently, but firmly forced Jim forward over the sink, while the other slid between them, two fingers pressing into Jim's slick entrance.

"Ah!" Jim moaned thrusting back onto that Vulcan hand, loving the feel of Spock's hot fingers caressing him from the inside.

"_Yes…"_ Spock hissed his first word in hours, as Jim's tight hole clenched around his digits. While he was still very much in the throes of Pon Farr, Spock had awakened feeling more lucid and considerably less uncomfortable and still not completely in control of his body. The throbbing of his organ was still insistent, but not painful as it had had been eight hours previous. Jim had saved him from the Plak Tow and even though Spock's body was still crying out for its own satisfaction, he was determined to use whatever bits of his sane self that remained present to bring Jim as much pleasure and gratification as possible. Looking into the mirror, his arousal grew tenfold at the picture they made. Jim's hands were braced where the counter top met the wall on either side, his strong, golden back taught as he was bent over, his head dipped low and hips thrusting back to fuck himself on Spock's fingers.

Jim was enjoying himself thoroughly, moaning and panting as Spock worked him, tuning him like a fine instrument until he was so ready to be played he was begging for it, cock hard and leaking where it hung between his spread legs. "Godammnit, Spock, fuck me!" No sooner had the words left his mouth, than the fingers inside him were withdrawn and Jim found himself pressed with his chest flat against the countertop, aroused Vulcan bending over him and pulling his head by a fistful of hair. Intense brown eyes, simmering devilishly into his own as he stared back at Spock's reflection, radiated such an intense lust that Jim could feel it in his balls as if it were his own—and hell, maybe it was. Green tinged cheek bones, large black pupils, disheveled brown hair and parting panting lips—Spock was the picture of sensuality and desire.

They were both watching the mirror when Spock slowly pushed inside; his mouth formed a silent O, mimicking Jim's own expression…sans the silence, of course. _"Fuck yes,"_ Jim crooned, singing his pleasure at being able to not only _feel _what Spock was doing but _watch_—God but they were a sight—Jim's golden skin pressing back against the softly flushed verdant hues of Spock's, their bodies moving in tandem, blue and brown eyes catching and blazing an all-consuming heat between them. Jim couldn't decide what he liked looking at more, Spock's open expression of wanton passion, the hand wrapped around his cock, pumping him to oblivion with long, firm pressure or the vision of Spock's shaft disappearing into his flushed ass as Vulcan hips rolled into him from behind.

There wasn't enough time to decide before he was being pulled—with impressive grace for a manically horny Vulcan—to the tiled floor. Jim was flipped onto his back, highly aroused lover panting above him, hands flying all over golden skin as if Spock couldn't decide where he wanted to touch more. With a style of diplomatic authority only a Starship Captain could command, Jim stroked wide, soothing circles over the spans of Spock's sides, his right hand taking time to linger over the pounding Vulcan heart with each sweep. Slowly, the hands grabbing and stroking Jim's own skin began to grow less and less frantic and more tender and deliberate. Soon, they were rocking against one another in a rhythm innate to all sentient, sensual beings.

This was not what Spock had intended, this mindless rutting upon the bathroom floor, but it _felt so good_… Being pressed against his T'hy'la, glorying the friction of his own firm, taut skin as it slid against the soft, comforting body beneath him, muscular legs wrapped around his hips, Jim's hand stroking their erections together and that beautiful mouth driving Spock mad, sucking and nibbling at the Vulcan's peeking nipples. If only he could articulate…control enough to make love to Jim as he truly wanted to, but he could scarcely grasp at the words flying around within his mind like photon torpedoes—_love, cherish, mine_—much less utter them coherently.

Spock made a sound between a groan and a sob, stilling their bodies' motions, Jim's hand flying soothingly to the Vulcan's face to stroke lovingly at a lightly stubbled jaw, pained brown eyes staring back at him helplessly. "What is it, Spock?" Jim's voice was soft with concern, "Did I hurt you…did I pull too hard?"

His hands were batted away when Spock shook his head in frustration, before dropping it to the juncture of Jim's neck, Vulcan shoulders slumping in defeat. How could he show Jim what he wanted? How could he make him understand? Being cognizant, in part, but having that part supplanted by illogic and desperation was driving him insane. His rational self was clear and present but scarcely more than a voyeur and at war with the dominant animal side of his Vulcan nature. Strong, embracing arms soothed him as calming hands ran up and down the length of his spine, stroking and caressing Spock's sore muscles, making him purr in appreciation.

"It's okay," Jim's voice was even and rational, steadying Spock with every word. "You don't need words to show me what you want." The Captain then scooted them across the floor, displaying that Kirkian determination as the man was still quite prone and bearing the full weight of a bedraggled but unpredictable Vulcan. Lifting a leg and using his toe to tap in a code, Jim activated a preset bath program for the tub. Spock had never used the actual bathtub to wash, preferring sonic and efficiency, but he had heard Jim fill it upon occasion, usually after a particularly stressful mission or conference with the admiralty. Hints of sandalwood and jasmine began to drift in the air around them and it helped to sooth some of the tension from Spock's mind. "Why don't we take a nice hot bath and…I'll _guess_ what it is you want me to do, hmm? Doesn't that sound nice?" Spock found himself agreeing with his body's motions for the first time since dragging Jim onto the floor as he nodded his assent into his lover's shoulder.

"Good." Jim breathed against a pointed ear, "Let me up and I'll get us settled in, okay?" Jim chuckled slightly as Spock disentangled himself; his Pon Farr-ridden Vulcan had gone from crazed dominance to docile obedience instantly. Talk about hormonal—no wonder the Vulcans hated talking about the mating cycle—it was like female PMS on acid. Jim could tell that behind the mindless sex-drive, Spock was in there watching helplessly as his sexual needs and physiology overrode his logic and rationale. And there was something that Spock—_rational_ Spock—wanted from this sexathon, and damn if he wasn't determined to find out what it was. If he could do anything to satisfy the base needs of the Vulcan's body as well as the emotional needs of the person within, Jim would make it happen.

Figuring Spock would want to be on the bottom, for easier access, he motioned for the Vulcan to climb in first. When his currently acquiescent First Officer hesitated, Jim simply shrugged and eased himself down into the water. If they needed to switch positions later, it wouldn't be that difficult to do so, he decided. He offered a hand to Spock, who took it immediately, coming to sit in the human's lap, wrapping strong legs around Jim's middle, their still half-hard cocks floating between them, pleasantly slipping and sliding against one another. The water was sensual as it was soothing, and soon Spock was rubbing his body against Jim's, arms wrapped around one another, foreheads pressed together as their mouths exchanged loving, intermittent kisses.

_Yes_, Spock thought, feeling Jim's erection accidently slip between his cheeks, brushing up against the yearning pucker of his virgin hole. When he ground down enthusiastically, preventing his mate from adjusting the position of his phallus, Jim regarded him with interest before giving an experimental thrust, the head of his penis nudging just so against his opening. A needy moan escaped his lips as Spock threw his head back and returned the thrust with wanton desperation. When his gaze finally returned to his mate, those deep blue eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree.

Jim could feel his heart pounding in anticipation. He had figured out within the first few moments of this impromptu Pon Farr, that it was supposed to be shared pleasure between mates, but he never considered the option of Spock not wanting to dominate every encounter. _Holy shit, don't fuck this up. Don't fuck this up. Don't fuck this up. _He took a steadying breath, dragging tantalizing fingers from the base of the Vulcan's neck, down his spine and into the cleft between his sculpted mounds, starting a slow circling motion around the bud of Spock's opening. "Are you sure?" He asked, using his other hand to press a command into the shower replicator for hair conditioner—a little known wonder in the art of shower masturbation.

He received his answer in the form of a searing kiss and a few more downward thrusts against the throbbing head of his cock. "Okay, okay," Jim soothed with a chuckle, "Knock that off or I'm gonna come before I can get inside." At his warning, Spock stilled all motion in his lower body, focusing instead on showering human neck and ears with sucking kisses, running fingers through wet, silky hair. Jim coated his hands with the conditioner. "I want you kneel around me, so that your ass is out of the water, okay?"

Spock complied immediately, unwinding his legs and kneeling, a knee on either side of Jim's thighs and his hands bracing themselves on Jim's shoulders. "Perfect," Jim praised, lubricated fingers immediately seeking out Spock's entrance, coating cleft and hole with the slick substance, fingers sliding and circling, pressing and retreating until Spock's organ was throbbing painfully with anticipation. Jim seemed to notice and, with a smirk, bent his head to engulf the entire length, one human hand firm against Spock's lower back and the other sliding a single finger past the tight pucker of his ass.

Swollen lips parted to yelp an exalted, "Ah!" followed by a string of Vulcan praise and devotion as cool human flesh both surrounded and penetrated his own, driving him into a frenzy. He couldn't peel his eyes away from the vision of Jim's mouth, encasing his cock, head bobbing with enthusiasm as he sucked Spock with heated fervor. He bit his bottom lip and began to thrust shallowly, between mouth and hand, fingers threading through Jim's hair as he guided his lover's head back and forth.

When a second finger joined the first, thrusting and scissoring, Spock felt flames spreading across his skin from that singular point of contact. Then, Jim pressed down onto something buried deep within and Spock was climaxing, eyes rolled into the back of his head as Jim drank his seed greedily, throat squeezing around the double-ridged head of his cock at every swallow. When Jim pulled his mouth away, three fingers now thrusting into Spock's opening, the Vulcan's penis was still erect and begging for more.

"I could drink you all day," Jim breathed huskily into the curly hairs surrounding his lover's organ. He licked his lips, taking time to appreciate the taste of Spock on his tongue. He then slowly removed his fingers and gently guided his lover's slim hips toward his own. The tip of Jim's cock pressed against the Vulcan's loosened entrance, "I've wanted you for so long," he breathed, "I'm gonna make this good for you, I promise."

Spock seemed to understand as his lips curled upward in a small grin, brown eyes swimming with affection even though speech still seemed to elude him. Jim gasped softly when warm lips and tongue kissed apologetically over the bite mark on his shoulder. "Are you ready for me?" Jim asked, his cock prodding gently at Spock's twitching hole. He had been expecting a nod or maybe another hissed 'yes.' Instead, Jim found himself engulfed in hot, hungry heat as his cock was buried to the hilt in one long, hard thrust. They both moaned in unison, reveling at the different but equally thrilling sensations.

Spock's desire to be filled, to be claimed by Jim, bloomed to new heights as he drove himself downward, engulfing his mate's erection and shouting in rapture at the feel of it throbbing against his inner walls. He was panting like a beast in heat when his eyes met with glazed blue orbs, swimming with a passion that rivaled his own. Slowly, deliberately, Spock raised a hand to Jim's meldpoints, the instinct to join them overwhelming. Some part of his conscious self broke through, staying the hand that hovered just millimeters above his T'hy'la's temple.

Jim made the final decision for him, pulling the straining hand to his face, "Do it," he breathed, gripping Spock's waist with his free hand and circling his hips, rotating his cock against the walls of his lover's clenching channel. Five hot finger tips pressed against the cool skin of his face and then he was transported into stifling heat, surrounded by glowing embers of a long smoldering desire, Spock's consciousness reaching out to him from beyond the swirling smoke.

_Jim…_Spock's voice echoed through his mind and Jim spun around in the field of ash and glowing coals, what he assumed to be a visual representation of the Pon Farr.

_Spock, _he thought, searching for the source of that controlled monotone. _Spock, where are you? I want to see you._

_I am here_, the Vulcan's voice sounded from behind and Jim found himself running toward the mental manifestation of Spock's projected form.

He wrapped his arms around the stoic figure, clinging to him with every fiber of his being. This was the Spock that he knew, the one that had disappeared behind unquenchable desire. _Are you alright? I found you in your room and then—_

_I am cognizant of everything, merely unable to control. I have been…watching,_ Spock's cheeks colored pleasantly.

Jim suddenly felt uncomfortable, was this really what Spock wanted? _Do you like what you see? _He asked self-consciously.

In answer, two elegant hands reached for Jim's own and they were being transported, floating through memories, all from Spock's point of view. Secret glances and thoughts as they worked on the bridge, during meetings and away missions, illogical hopes and desires whenever blue eyes met with his own across a chess board or that velvet voice sounded over the intercom in his quarters…the visceral joy of regaining his identity to discover that the one he loved most, had longed to hold for so long, loved him in return. Then, anxiety flooded Jim's mind with an overwhelming sense of wrong as heat and fire began to gather within Spock's mind and body, fear so strong it was nearly debilitating. Echoes of '_too soon, too soon' _and '_must control. Must not harm' _reverberated around them as images of Spock holding a sobbing Jim in his quarters, torn between telling Jim the truth—that yes, he loved him, and sparing him the agony of suffering an unpredictable, unnatural Pon Farr.

Then, they were in Jim's bed wrapped up in warmth; Spock's head clearer than it had been in days and the mix of joy and fear as they came together and flames began to subside. Suddenly, Jim was watching them as they were currently, entwined in the bathtub, foreheads pressed together and Jim buried deep within Spock's body, hips undulating softy. He could feel their combined pleasure ripping through them both and he moaned within the meld. It was as if Jim had suddenly become his own penis, feeling the walls of Spock's channel squeezed around him tightly, caressing, warming, gripping and tugging. As clearly as he could feel the sensations of his own body, Jim could also feel himself spread, stretched and so very full, wanting more…faster…harder…deeper…wanting to bind their bodies and minds for all time.

_Yes_, Jim replied to Spock's unspoken desire, his voice haggard with the weight of his conviction that this was right, that is was meant to be—joining with the beloved being in his arms and mind. Suddenly, the images began to swirl, faster and faster until all they became was a blur of purple and incandescent blue. Jim laughed in wonder as he reached out a hand, threading his fingers through the smoky swirling tendrils surrounding them. Spock then placed a hand against Jim's cheek, drawing him into a deep, loving kiss and everything stopped.

_Parted from me and never parted. Never and always touching and touched…_

The tendrils began to braid and entwine, glowing brighter and brighter until a single golden strand stretched endlessly in either direction, as far as the eye could see. The both stared in wonder at their creation before their consciousnesses were thrust outside of the meld and into the external world. Blue eyes opened to meet with lucid brown eyes, blown wide with desire and primal passion that caused Jim's heart to stutter in his chest. Their lips crushed together in a desperate attempt to bind their bodies as closely as their minds.

Hands and fingers clutched and caressed, lips and tongues nipped and sucked and hips and legs moved together in a frenzied climb toward an indiscernible precipice. Spock rode Jim's cock with unbridled enthusiasm, completely in control and yet unrepentantly unleashed. Driving his hips into Jim's thrusts, pulling at golden hair as cool lips and tongue sucked and licked at his nipples, and Spock had never felt more alive. He pulled his new bondmate's head back by his hair and stifled Jim's moan with lips and tongue, licking into wet heat and drinking greedily of all that was offered. Warm water swirled and sloshed around them, rising over the basin and slapping onto the tiled floor.

"Oh, God, ride me, Spock…_fuck_," Jim moaned, his cock throbbing so hard it was almost painful as his testicles began to tighten. The sight of his stoic First Officer, his reserved Vulcan friend, riding his cock with untamed passion, moaning and whispering what were probably obscenities in his native tongue was something Jim knew he would never forget…always treasure. He increased the pressure of his fist where it circled Spock's shaft and pulled from base to ridges, twisting his wrist just so and watched as the beloved being atop him came completely undone.

White ropes of semen spurt forth onto Jim's hand and chest as he watched Spock throw his head back, hips working even harder now as the ring and walls of his hole began to clench and spasm around Jim's hard, thrusting length until it was finally too much. Jim came with a long, rapturous shout, driving his hips into Spock's ass as he filled the Vulcan with warm, thick ropes of semen. Somehow, they managed to collapse onto their sides, facing each other and panting as they lay in the water, arms and legs entangled in a bodily embrace.


	7. Chapter 7

It was several hours later when Spock awoke, no longer fevered and finally sated. He and Jim had managed to make it out of the bathroom and back to Jim's bed, both wrapped in their robes and spooning comfortably. He pressed a kiss to the back of his…_Holy Surak_, they were bonded now. _Jim…_He had never stopped to hope, not even once, that this vibrant being lying beside him would ever conceive to love him in return. He had craved Jim's presence, yearned for it, almost immediately after the start of their mission and like any logical, well-trained Vulcan, he'd ruthlessly ignored the feelings his incorrigible Captain elicited from within. Until it became impossible to do so and he had found himself informing his logical choice of mate the very illogic of his emotions.

Nyota was intelligent, compassionate, logical, dependable…predictable. She was everything any Vulcan could ask for in a mate, but Spock could not stop the growing sense of incompletion between them at their lack of physical intimacy. They had tried stimulating him using 'foreplay' and it had worked to an extent, but everywhere Spock put his hands it felt awkward and he found Nyota's touch either too soft or too hesitant to be fully arousing. The meld had been his suggestion—a way for them to find a rhythm as was common among new bondmates and she had agreed, enthusiastically in fact. However, their minds were not compatible, just as it had been with T'Pring, his childhood intended and he began to fear, despite Nyota's reassurances to the contrary, that there was something within _himself_ that was defective.

It wasn't until Spock caught himself, in Jim's quarters following a game of chess, watching the human cross the room to the replicator. Spock's eyes had been glued onto Jim's posterior, watching avidly as the two perfectly rounded mounds rose and fell with every step. When his organ had begun to respond to the visual alone, the Vulcan knew then that he was in trouble and he politely excused himself, immediately seeking Nyota's counsel. As relieving as it was to know that he was capable of physical intimacy, harboring such attractions toward one's Captain was completely inappropriate and Spock had resolved to push the inconvenient feelings aside.

If it happened that Spock began spending the majority of his off duty hours in Jim's company, attraction had very little to do with it. The relationship between the Captain and First Officer of a starship was key in the smooth and efficient running of the vessel. It was only logical, now that Spock had more free time due to the end of his previous romantic engagement, for him to use that time to build a stronger working relationship with Jim. If that working relationship included breakfast, lunch, dinner, nightly games of chess and frequent coinciding shore leave activities, well, that was merely an example of getting one's efforts repaid. It had absolutely nothing at all, whatsoever, to do with the fact that Spock _enjoyed_ being with his Captain—listening to the sultry cadence of Jim's voice, watching full pink lips close over various eating utensils, calloused fingers twirl a rook between index and thumb as that brilliant mind worked out another unorthodox chess move, and drinking in the sight of Jim's bare back, all sinewy muscle, as it arched and curved while strong arms and legs tackled an unclimbed mountain on Theta Omicron.

Of course, one could only lie to oneself for so long before the truth would make itself undeniable. Dorian VII, in the midst of a brutal war, had tested the new crew of the _Enterprise_ on an entirely different level. The beings that inhabited the planet were telepathic and when Jim, along with a well-trained security team and an Andorian diplomat representing the federation had beamed down to begin the prearranged treaty talks, all manner of chaos had erupted. Jim had been taken by the opposing faction, the diplomat and security personnel murdered. The Captain's kidnappers had thought to ransom him for the promised aid of the treaty instead of compromising with the other faction and while in their custody, Jim's mind had been probed for secret information until he was all but a vegetable when they finally retrieved him.

Spock had neck-pinched Dr. McCoy, who was wasting precious time by arguing, and initiated a mind meld post haste. He had never been inside the Captain's mind before and he found himself drinking in the sights and sounds of his friend's tangled thoughts and emotions. Fear and determination the most prevalent among them. _You can't have it_! Jim's voice sounded around them and Spock reached out to the tendril of thought from which it originated.

_Be calm,_ he had urged,_ it is Spock, Captain. I am here to retrieve you._

Slowly, Jim's consciousness began to swirl around Spock and as recognition began to dawn within the human's mind, he saw it. Little golden strands reaching out to him from the vortex of swirling thoughts and emotions and they _sang _to him…called him forth like a lost sailor to a siren of old Terran Greek mythology. _T'hy'la._ Just as Jim's awareness began to emerge from his self-conscious, Spock retreated. How could this be? Yes, he had been experiencing sexual attraction and intellectual stimulation with Jim, but to find a mind so compatible that it almost seemed _made_ for the specific purpose of joining with his own…to actually _feel_ the ancient, pre-surakian call of T'hy'la within Jim's mind was…overwhelming not to mention inconceivable. Such a bond had not been forged in thousands of years and to Spock's knowledge, Jim wasn't even inclined toward male partners. What a cruel joke, indeed, to know the potential of thing and also its absolute impossibility.

To love someone…to have them in every way but that which is most fulfilling—it was a hard thing to carry. And carry it he did, for nearly a year in silence until his accident. Spock remembered awakening in Sickbay and watching Jim walk through that door, his heart hammering and his entire being reacting as a whole the presence of his T'hy'la. It was no wonder his amnesic self had not seen the logic in denying his yearning. To wake up, here, in Jim's bed, body sated and satisfied, heart full and humming in his side, witness to the realization of so many fantasies and dreams was—to borrow a phrase—_awesome._

He pulled his bondmate—yes, he liked the sound of that—into his arms, burying his nose in the juncture of Jim's neck and shoulder reverently inhaling sandalwood, lavender and human masculinity. "I know that you are awake, Ashaya," Spock whispered into a rounded ear, pressing a kiss the blonde hair at his mate's temple.

Jim turned around to meet the amused brown eyes of his… "Did we get married in a bathtub last night, or was I suffering from a mind-sex induced hallucination?"

Gentle fingers skirted over Jim's cheeks, forehead and jaw, and Spock's eyes seemed to smile as he said; "It was no hallucination. We are bonded, T'hy'la."

"T'hy'la," Jim repeated, remembering what Uhura had told him…God, how long had they been at it, anyway? Shaking his head, he continued on with his initial thought, "Is that what we are?"

"It is." He paused, then, "You know what it means?" Spock's sounded just this side of surprised.

"Yeah, Uhura told me a few days after you…" he looked away, not wanting to think about it, "she said you told her I was your T'hy'la. She's the reason I was coming to disrupt your _meditation_ before I busted into your room and thank God I did." Spock looked like he was about to say something, but Jim interrupted, "By the way, what the _hell_ were you thinking?"

Color rose from Spock's neck to his cheeks and ears, "The Pon Farr that from which I was suffering was unnatural, an unforeseen result of my accident." He hooked an arm under Jim's shoulders and pulled him to his chest, until he was leaning over his bondmate, threading fingers through wheat hair, "Forgive me for causing you pain, James. I feared I might…damage you…irreparably."

Jim sighed, pushing upward onto his elbows for a chaste kiss, "I understand, but why not just tell me? We could have taken precautions—"

"If it had occurred as a normal Pon Farr does, I would have agreed, however," Spock shook his head, "Almost from the moment I regained my last unrecovered memory, I began feeling the flames of Plak Tow licking within my consciousness. The temptation to plunder your body—to simply take what I wanted—as I held you in my arms five nights ago was nearly irresistible and the second I left your presence, I was overcome. I very narrowly avoided raping you that evening."

"Spock," Jim whispered fervently, feeling the all-consuming fear that Spock had experienced through their newly formed bond, "If we're going to be married, then you need to understand something—your problems are my problems. Your pain is my pain. I can't _literally_ feel it now and you had better _never_ try to hide it from me again. I love you too much to lose you to your own version of stupidity."

"I will not," Spock promised, sending waves of answering love and devotion through the link, before thinking better of it. "Are you certain you are comfortable with this?"

"What?" Jim smiled, eyes dancing with affection and heart pounding with the vastness of Spock's emotions, "Feeling pieces of you float in and out of my mind?" He reached up to trail a hand over the curve of a well-toned Vulcan ass, "I'm more than comfortable with it, in fact, it actually makes me want more of you inside me."

"Is that so?" Spock lifted a wicked brow, fingers dipping into the cleft of Jim's backside, "Are you certain you are not too tired?"

"Come on," Jim urged, his cock rising with interest, "we have a whole other day set aside for your Pon Farr and I want to spend every second of it making love to you."

"Yes," Spock whispered into the air between their parted lips, an entire year of pent up desire and silent longing weighing heavily upon him. Had he not suffered this accident and lost his reasons for placing distance between them, how long would they have both gone on suffering in silence? Positioning himself between golden thighs, the head of his cock slowly breeching the quivering pucker of Jim's hole, Spock gazed into loving blue eyes, "Taluhk nash-veh k'dular. Let us waste no more time."

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, so…that's the end. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Please feel free to leave a review. **


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